


Go easy, don't rush me

by dragon_rider



Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Adoption, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Animal Transformation, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Breaking Up & Making Up, Breaking and Entering, Car Accidents, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Families of Choice, Fluff, Gen, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Misogyny, Jealousy, M/M, Meddling, Mild Gore, Nightmares, Parenthood, Past Relationship(s), Porn Watching, Prompt Fill, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Secret Admirer, Self Confidence Issues, Sexual Content, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 74,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_rider/pseuds/dragon_rider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Related and unrelated Shevine oneshots. Mostly prompt fills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. everyone gives blake the shovel talk

**Author's Note:**

> I know some of you guys don't use Tumblr so that's why I decided to post these drabbles here despite of their questionable quality. It's going to be a little messy because I'll be posting the fills in chronological order but I do hope you can somehow enjoy them (?) a little, maybe. Let me know if there are any tags missing, please.
> 
> Title from "Never gonna leave this bed" because I love that song too much and what else was I supposed to put there, we just don't know.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I apologize for the mistakes, English isn't my first language.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: everyone (coaches and carson) sees adam as their little brother and blake as their big bro so when they start dating everyone gets protective w/ adam and has these talks with blake not to hurt adam and adam notices and gets insecure cuz he thinks that they're telling blake not to date him and in the end he finds out and he gets embarassed and acts adorable :D

“Oh my Gosh, Adam,” Blake said for the tenth time, “Calm down or get your ass here so I can calm you down myself, dang it, what’s the matter with you?”

Adam stomped, halting his incessant pacing in Blake’s trailer, and glared at his close-friend-recently-turned-boyfriend as he all but laughed in his face because of how fucking nervous he was.

They were telling Carson, Shakira and Usher they were dating today and sure, telling three friends was nowhere near as bad as coming out or telling their families they were together, but after talking with Maroon 5 Adam knew to expect the unexpected from this sort of thing.

His friends from the band hadn’t even reacted much and Adam got mad, thinking they weren’t taking him seriously until James laughed and gripped his shoulders.

“Adam, we’re glad for you, but you’re the last one to know, not us, you know? So we can’t really act surprised,” he’d said, smirking, and promptly left him to keep tuning his guitar.

That had been definitely anticlimactic.

“You don’t want to tell them?” Blake asked, blinking curious and slightly frantic eyes at him as Adam shook his head and tugged him down enough to give him a quick kiss standing on the tip of his toes.  
“That’s not it, Big Country, don’t be silly,” Adam assured him, Blake’s sigh of relief warming his skin as they stayed close to talk in hushed tones. They didn’t need louder or much to understand each other and that was amazing and scary at times, “Of course I want to. I just don’t know what to expect.”  
Blake’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean? I don’t think they’re gonna be assholes about it. We spend a lot of the time joking about being together and they always spur us on.”  
“I’m just saying it could be weird and awkward,” Adam replied, convinced it was going to be like telling his buds only for them to blink and carry on like Adam had just told them the weather.  
Blake nodded, squared his shoulder as if for battle. “I’m ready for weird and awkward. Bring it on.”

Adam laughed in spite of himself and entwined his arms around Blake’s neck just for a little while longer. It didn’t seem like the guys were in any rush to get to the country singer’s trailer to talk with them, after all, and if there was something Adam always found himself missing it was being in Blake’s arms and kissing him.

Blake hummed in agreement, as if reading his mind, and held him with both hands on his waist snugly pressing his much smaller body to his broad chest.

***

They pulled away once they heard an undignified yelp and some stumbling.

Shakira was covering her mouth with a hand, eyes wide in shock, and Usher was leaning on the doorframe like he was using all his strength in collecting his open jaw from the floor.

“Man, this isn’t funny,” he said, frowning, “I thought we’d agreed on no more practical jokes, what the hell?”  
“I agree,” Carson said, arms crossed, “If you expected me to clear this one for the show, I’m not—“  
“Shut up and sit down, all of you,” Blake cut in, annoyed. He pointed at the spacious room on the couch and waited for them to get in and sit down before continuing, “Take a deep breath and look, really look at us, alright? And tell me again if this looks like a joke to you.”

Adam was just this close to claw at his face and scream when Shakira finally stopped being speechless and flung herself to their shoulders, hugging them both with a wide grin on her face.

“Oh my God, guys, I’m so happy for you! Don’t listen to these two here, men can be thicker to get this sort of thing sometimes. When did this happen?”

Adam sighed. Thank God for Shakira.

“A couple of weeks ago,” he smiled, turning to look at Blake who leaned down to kiss his temple and made him giggle, “It’s been so great.”  
“Really, now?”  Carson frowned, glancing at Blake for a second before focusing solely on Adam, expression earnest, “Is he taking good care of you, Adam?”

Adam flushed, not entirely sure he got what Carson was saying because what the fuck was that even supposed to mean?

Wasn’t that what people in love with each other did? Care for each other, take care of the other in every way they could?

“Yeah?” he replied, confused, “Of course he is. And I’m taking care of him too.”

He stared in bemusement as Usher beckoned Shakira to him and whispered something in her ear that made her turn back and look sharply at the hand Blake had loosely gripping Adam’s hip.

“That’s good to know,” Carson said and it sounded like it was the end of the matter but somehow Adam felt like it really wasn’t.

This wasn’t exactly anticlimactic, but it was very weird indeed.

***

It happened with Carson first.

Adam always arrived early at the studio and walked around with a coffee in one hand and a bounce in his step because he loved his job and he always looked forward to the fun they all had while tapping and the amazing talents they were about to discover.

It didn’t look like Blake and Carson were sharing a joke, talking about a contestant or anything of the sort, though, and Adam fought against his curiosity and worry for all of two seconds before sneaking up on them from a corner and straining to hear what they were discussing that seemed so serious.

“—he can be quite a handful,” Carson was saying, “I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing, Blake, we wouldn’t want you to—“

Adam practically tripped over his own feet to get away once he understood what was going on.

Was one of his friends really trying to talk Blake out of seeing him?

***

It was an accident, really, when it happened with Usher two days later.

Adam was trying to convince himself he had it wrong and that there was no way any of the people he held dear would try to take Blake from him when he heard the words, clear as crystal.

“You know how he gets sometimes,” Usher stated, “I’m just saying, man, do you actually know how to handle him?”

He blinked back tears welling up in his eyes and turned back down the hall, hoping as all Hell he’d have at least twenty minutes before having to be on his chair because he wasn’t ready to face anyone.

Was that really what they thought about him? Adam loved them to bits and they—well, they cared for him as a friend but obviously considered he wasn’t good enough to date Blake anyway.

***

When he spotted Shakira and her menacing 5’3’’ poking a finger at Blake as he listened to whatever she was saying with rapt attention, Adam did the exact opposite of trying to listen.

He went in the other direction, making sure there was no way he’d hear Shakira telling Blake he wasn’t worth pursuing as a partner.

He tried not to get sad about it because deep down he agreed with them—there was a reason he’d been dating models for years on end and was never able to make it work with any of them—but it was one thing to think he was a decent boyfriend in his best days and a lousy one the rest of the time and another thing entirely to realize some of his closest friends thought he was too much of a self-absorbed jackass to deserve Blake’s love.

He was a pain in the ass, he fully admitted that, but he was a good guy. He could be good for Blake, he was so  _sure_  of it, why weren’t they even willing to give him the benefit of the doubt?

He could make it work this time. He loved Blake with every fiber of his being. He loved him so much it paralyzed him every time he realized how deeply in love he was, so much there’d be no getting over his tall, charming, dumb, hilarious hick of a partner even if he tried.

***

“Cat got your tongue?” Blake asked, unceremoniously taking the folder with scores Adam was checking while the country singer watched TV, “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight, honey, what’s on that pretty head of yours?”

Adam pursed his lips and looked down, the frustration of knowing people who were like family to him thought so poorly of him getting the better of him and making his chin tremble along with just how absolutely—god-awfully—charming Blake always was, how thoroughly gentle and sweet and all sort of things Adam didn’t even know he needed before the first time Blake asked him out.

His skin still tingled with warmth and delight when he remembered how engrossed Blake had been with him all night, listening to his every word, looking at his every move and doing his best to please his every whim too because apparently he liked playing the part of a Southern gentleman and Adam quite liked it, too.

He didn’t understand how he was supposed to give that up.

“Hey,” Blake pressed softly, so softly a watery laugh made it out of Adam’s throat and he winced at hearing it, “What is it, Adam?”  
“Is this our last date?” he asked, wiping a treacherous tear from his cheek as if Blake hadn’t seen it and tried catching it with his thumb first, “Are you tired of me yet? Did they convince you this isn’t a good idea?”  
“Wow, hold your horses, Adam, slow down a minute, would you?” Adam tried resisting but actually wanted to be on Blake’s lap, damn it, so he burrowed into his neck and shut his eyes tight against the possibility of getting answers he wasn’t ready to hear, “What are you talking about? I could never get tired of you, darlin’, and we still have a date on Saturday unless the world ends first, you hear me? So what brought this on?”

Adam sniffled a little, quietly, and told Blake that he knew what Carson, Shakira and Usher had been telling him to do.

Blake kept shushing him gently, kissing him on the brow once Adam calmed down enough to look up at him, palms warm as they wiped his cheeks.

“It wasn’t like that,” Blake said, “They were telling me I’d better not hurt you. Honestly, I almost cried when Shakira threatened me with piercing my balls with her heels if I ever did.”  
Adam blinked. “Come again?”  
Blake nodded. “They were worried about you. I got the talk your dad didn’t give me three times.”  
“Oh my God,” Adam honestly didn’t know if he should laugh, blush or get mad so he just held Blake tight and let him nuzzle his neck, “Baby, I’m so sorry. You okay? Any mental scarring besides weaponized high heels?”  
“Uh-huh,” Blake said, voice muffled, “Nah, I’m okay. Just don’t tell them you were crying because of me ‘cause in that case, I’m good as dead.”

***

Knowing what had been really going on brought another issue to Adam.

Every time he saw they were giving Blake a hard time in some way or another—Usher was especially obvious pointing at his eyes with two fingers and then at the country singer in the proverbial gesture of I’m watching you—Adam couldn’t help blushing and stuttering as he tried to make them understand there was no need for them to do that.

“He’s really sweet, guys, I don’t think he could hurt me if he wanted to,” Adam tried for the umpteenth time, “Could you please—you know—just—stop doing this?”  
“Don’t worry, Adam,” Carson said resolutely, pretty much ignoring his words completely, “We got your back.”

Shakira winked at him. Usher patted his chest. Blake shrugged and kept eating lunch, quite relaxed for a guy in his position.

Adam groaned and flailed his arms in utter defeat.

He supposed he’d have to get used to being the little brother with three obnoxious, protective siblings with the best of intentions but not always the best of methods to carry them out. 


	2. contestants!AU take 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Adam and Blake as teen contestants on the voice!! :D

Adam stood near the entrance of The Voice studio. Outwardly he was very calm, cool even, only the incessant tapping on his left foot giving away the ball of nerves he was inside.

He’d been selected to come to the Blind Auditions and that was in itself a great thing, he tried telling himself, he was eighteen and still had time to get a career later even if he received four painful, flat-out rejections today.

He wanted so much for any of the coaches to say yes though. This was at once the best and the worst thing he’d ever felt—this ugly apprehension,  coupled with not exactly a small amount of stage fright that wouldn’t leave him alone no matter how many hours he’d spent psyching himself up for this the night before.

He had a great song, a great—and maybe too bold—arrangement; he’d chosen Michael Jackson’s  _Smooth Criminal_ , added more guitar instead of relying on dance moves to deliver a good performance—but didn’t go all Alien Ant Farm on it, no—and used his voice to pick up the rhythm and hit a few crazy notes here and there.

But there was the chance he was just trying to fill shoes that were too fucking big for him, no matter how much Jesse insisted how the song helped Adam highlight all the reasons why his voice was great and special; he could sing fast without falling out of the pocket or losing diction, his falsetto came effortlessly to him and the particular brand of screaming in the song didn’t make him sound like a dying cat or worse, so it was supposed to help Adam, not to ruin his big chance.

He would see about that soon enough.

***

He had no idea how long he’d been singing to himself while bouncing on the ball of his feet when a low, long whistle interrupted him.

He blinked and stared at the huge guy that was standing right beside him, smiling toothily at him once he realized he had Adam’s attention.

“I should just pack up and leave, after hearing that,” the guy drawled, “You looking like that and  _sounding_ like that, what’s left for the rest of us?”

Adam found himself grinning back even before the stream of compliments ended.

He gave his fellow contestant a quick but thorough once-over and bit his bottom lip for a second.

The guy needed a haircut, badly—those long brown curls looked ridiculous with the cowboy hat—but he carried the weight of his guitar case with so much ease that it made Adam think he was comfortable enough in his skin to make it work, somehow, and that there was a beast of a Country artist wrapped in those loose jeans and plaid shirt.

“Well, I’m not sure if you’re a palm tree or a cowboy or both, but dude, I’m sure there’s enough room in this competition for both of us if you’re the latter,” he said, extending a hand as the other singer laughed straight from his belly at his joke, “I’m Adam, Adam Levine.”  
“Blake Shelton,” blue eyes shining with mirth, he added, “You know, maybe you’re right, I think we’re gonna be okay unless you’re a Country singer instead of a rock star.”  
Adam laughed. “Rock isn’t the only thing I can do but no, Country isn’t my thing.”  
“Yes!” Blake celebrated, first pumping in the air, “So, first time around?”  
“On The Voice? Yeah. Not in LA, though, I’m actually from here, born and raised.”  
“Oh, lucky me!” Blake clapped his hands and leaned down eagerly, “Wouldn’t you be a darling and show this poor Okie where he can get lunch without getting robbed or food-poisoning?”  
“I think I can arrange that, yeah,” Adam picked up his own guitar and cocked his head towards the street, “This way, cowboy.”  
“Lead on, rock star.”

***

It turned out both of their auditions were scheduled late in the afternoon and they spent most of the day together, teasing each other to get rid of the nerves they were both feeling and that their families really didn’t help soothing, more like the opposite.

Adam had never met a guy so funny and charismatic and knew, objectively, that it’d be game over if Blake turned out to be one Hell of a singer to boot.

Still, he couldn’t help but rooting for him as he sneaked behind the cameras and watched Blake singing and playing the guitar in the center of the stage.

“Come on, man,” he whispered, “Win them over, you can do it.”

Adam didn’t know the song but yeah—he was definitely screwed, him and every other singer in the competition, especially if there were more Country artists this time around.

Blake’s voice was deep and enticing and pitch perfect. He had a way of sharing what the song had to say that made Adam focus so much in his performance he didn’t even notice the first chair turning but jumped excitedly once he heard Kelly Clarkson turning around.

Blake was in and he had the coach he wanted too!

It was his turn now but first he’d sneak somewhere else to hug Blake’s parents. He’d met them over lunch and they were really nice people.

***

“He made it, he made it!” he shouted, barging in and laughing when Mr. Shelton hugged him tight enough to make his ribs hurt.  
“He did! He did! My baby boy is a star!” Mrs. Shelton squeaked.

That was as far as Adam went without Carson gawking at him and steering him out of the room.

“Adam, you’re next, you’re not supposed to be here, you scamp!”

Adam gave him a cocky grin and ran to the stage doors.

***

He couldn’t believe he still had one minute to agonize before going on stage but he did and it was killing him.

Could he still change his song? He could sing anything else, anything to just see if the coaches liked his voice instead of standing with the shadow of the King of Pop behind.

“Adam, thirty seconds!” a woman of the staff informed him, shoving a mic in his hand, “Good luck.”

Damn it. Too late. He’d have to man up to what he wanted to do in the first place and see how that went for him.

“Thank you.”

He took a deep, not very calming breath and stepped through the doors, gripping his electric guitar like the security blanket it probably was.

***

He made it as far as to the first bridge of the song using his falsetto when a chair turned for him.

Shakira stood up for him and by the time Adam was finishing the song reaching the high notes, even Christina and Usher had turned and were also standing.

Honestly, the audience was so amazing he’d been more than happy to go home remembering how loud and excited they were for him.

The speed with which he went from ‘Hell yeah!’ to ‘Oh shit’ once he realized he had to pick a coach was astonishing.

***

“I was first! I didn’t need the big notes to push my button for you, Adam,” Shakira argued vehemently, “I fell in love with your voice without them.”  
“Adam, I wasn’t first, but I will make  _you_  the first in this competition, you have my word,” Kelly promised.

Adam ducked his head and mumbled his thanks, wondering if the production team would kick his ass if he asked the coaches to play rock-paper-scissors and spare him from making a decision.

Surely, that would look hilarious on the show, yeah?

Shit. He thought he’d pick Usher if he was lucky enough to get him to turn for him but now he had no idea.

“Adam, you’re such a cutie pie,” Christina said, “Look at you. Don’t you girls agree? And he has a voice to die for too, you belong on stage! You were born a star.”

Between the whooping and the whistling of the audience, Adam recognized a very poor attempt at whistling he’d heard before.

He turned his head to the side and saw Blake giving him two thumbs up from backstage, two men from the staff probably telling him he wasn’t supposed to be there.

He chuckled and turned in time to gape at Usher as he surrounded his shoulders with an arm and started his speech to convince him to join his team.

Adam blinked. He’d made Usher leave his seat. Wow.

“Adam, my man, you know as well as I do these ladies are incredible but they can’t get you the same way I do.”  
“Oh, I don’t know,” Adam teased, “I think they get me pretty well.”

He ended up picking Christina after she pointed a few of the same things Adam knew he needed to work on.

Usher swore up and down he was going to steal him the first chance he got.

Adam grinned and hugged everyone before running to find the friend he’d made in the show today.

“I’m gonna kick your ass, Shelton,” Adam vowed, mock-serious, while Blake buried his face on his shoulder and tried to smother him with his curls.  
Blake chuckled in his ear, big hands gripping his waist tight. “Can’t wait to see you try, Adam.”


	3. everyone gives blake the shovel talk part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: part two to the fanfic you wrote where the judges were protective of Adam. Like maybe Adam's getting kind of distant and wears like a sad look for some reason and they have a little "talk" with Blake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This follows up from Chapter 1.

Adam had his ups and downs.

Mood swings weren’t a foreign concept to Blake but ever since he started seeing Adam on a regular basis—deciding to linger in LA until touring or some other aspect of his career made him leave, until they could figure out how to sneak around their agendas to be together as much as they could—he got a whole new level of understanding on them.

When Adam was happy, it was contagious and wonderful and easy. No matter how tired or grumpy Blake felt, it wouldn’t take long at all for Adam to put a smile on his face and make him laugh hard enough his belly hurt. There was no roof to Adam’s joy, when he was like that, and Blake didn’t want to put one over his head. He loved seeing his pretty smile, that one dimple that drove him crazy and his giggles were a godsend for him.

When Adam was sad, on the other hand, it got challenging. It was hard not to get pulled in once it lasted more than a few hours and it could last for days if Blake wasn’t careful and attentive in getting his partner out of his misery. He couldn’t act like he didn’t care—which he did, of course, but in his experience some people liked dealing with their moods alone—that would turn it a thousand times worst. Adam was like a flower; he needed sun light, needed attention, and if he withered and no one seemed to give a damn because he ‘could get that way sometimes’, it could kill him.

Even Adam’s friends tended to disregard his mood swings every now and then—never when Adam was hurting too visibly, but they did—and Blake realized with a start that Adam had learned to mask the worst of them to make things more bearable for the person he was interested in.

It was probably unconscious, a habit learned from one too many painful break ups, but it upset Blake so much.

He couldn’t soothe Adam if he didn’t even  _know_  he was miserable, goddamn it, and if he didn’t do something Adam would just retreat into himself, into his music at best or into smoking like a damn chimney at worst, and leave him out to stand confusedly around, wondering just what on Earth he’d done to push him away this time.

It was so much easier with women. They at least yelled at Blake’s face everything they hated he did or didn’t do or just yelled at him so Blake could realize he needed to do something. They  _talked_.

Adam just wore this face—this dejected, withdrawn face that you could mistake for boredom or complacency if you didn’t look hard enough.

He was getting better at perceiving Adam’s real mood, practice made perfect after all, but he was still learning and sometimes it took him a while, especially when Adam coated his dark emotions with funny jokes and well-placed smiles.

He was so focused in  _learning_  he didn’t even see the ambush coming.

***

“Okay, Blake, spill,” Carson said, the lock Usher put on the door making an ominous sound in the quiet air of Blake’s trailer, “What did you do?”  
“And why aren’t you fixing it?” Shakira asked firmly, “Adam looks so miserable, the poor thing! I want to hug him, he looks like a kicked puppy, but he won’t let me.”

Blake gulped and decided the best was to sit down to have this conversation that looked like it was going to happen whether he liked it or not.

He looked at Usher, waiting for him to put his two cents.

“We told you this was gonna happen if you hurt him, man,” the R&B singer said, “Don’t give me that look.”  
Blake shrugged slightly. “I was just making sure everyone said their piece first,” he clarified, “And I haven’t done anything, okay? Maybe something happened and he hasn’t told me yet, maybe it didn’t. Truth is, I don’t know, but I’m trying to help him, okay? I really am. It kills me watching him like this, it does, but I can’t push him. I can just… be there, for him.”

Carson blinked. Blake noticed with no small amount of satisfaction he’d stunned the three of them into silence.

Good. Nosy idiots, the lot of them, for the right reasons or not they had no right to judge him like this and to meddle in what he had with Adam.

Sure, he’d never been with a man before, but he’d been in love—never like this; never so fully, never so cripplingly intense that he feared the day Adam would stop loving him more than he feared his own death—and he knew how to take care of his loved ones.

“He  _gets like this_ , you told me that, remember?” he said to Usher, who stared at him wide-eyed for a second before nodding, “Well, guess what, he needs help! And everyone he’s been with so far has just made it worse, so it’s hard for him to trust me sometimes. I’ve been asking him what’s going on and he says everything’s fine and I don’t get mad or call him a liar, I just keep asking. It takes a while. You’ll have to trust me, I’m doing my best to be the man he deserves.”  
“Wow. I am, for one, impressed,” Carson smiled at him, patting him jokingly on the shoulder, “It almost sounds like you’re growing, Blake, like Adam is making you a better person. You’ve really thought about this.”  
Shakira hugged him briefly. “Sorry we were mean to you, Blake, we’re just worried about Adam. You know he likes playing tough but he’s a sensitive guy and he needs someone gentle and caring like you—he needs _you_ , so much, we’re just scared you’ll get overwhelmed, I guess. It sounds so silly now. You really love him.”

Blake nodded, twiddling with the bracelet he and Adam had decided to wear instead of rings that were too obvious for their situation.

To everyone else, it was just a brown strap of leather on their wrists with a few threads as latch.

To them, it was a warm, constant reminder of how much they meant to each to each other.

“I’ve loved him for a long time,” he admitted quietly.  
Usher made a face. “Dude, I hope for your own good you haven’t been using me to make Adam jealous all these years because I’m going to kick your ass if that’s what you were doing.”  
“I’m sorry, you want me to keep sitting so you can actually kick my ass from down there?” Blake smirked and dodged a pillow that whistled past him as Usher huffed and swore at him.

***

Blake was pretty comfy checking Twitter on his phone while Adam dozed lightly on his lap when he felt eyes on him.

He set his phone aside and brushed Adam’s eyebrows with his fingertips, hazel eyes mostly dark brown in the low light, a few specks of green here and there.

“How’s my Sleeping Beauty?” he teased.

Adam snorted, pushing one elbow right into his thigh in retaliation and making him jerk back a little.

“Ow! Alright, Prince Charming then?”

Adam shook his head, lying back down and kissing the inner side of his forearm softly.

“Neither, dickhead. What were you doing?”  
“Missing you,” he said sincerely, leaning down as he stuck his bottom lip out playfully, “Give me a kiss.”  
“You dumb sap,” Adam giggled, stirring before encircling his neck with his arms and whispering in his ear, “I can give you a thousand, how about that?”

Blame hummed, pressing his lips to his favorite spot on Adam’s neck, right beneath his ear.

“I definitely won’t complain if you do.”


	4. contestants!AU take 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Adam and Blake are teen contestant on the voice and like they kiss or something and most of the viewers are rly into it but then like some thinks its disgusting and they say stuff like ew Im not going to watch the voice anymore and adam and blake feel bad (especially Adam :D), but the judges and carson sticks up for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This follows up from Chapter 2.

The first time they kissed, they were alone.

They were roommates since the first day of the competition and Adam had taken upon him to give Blake a crash course in current music whenever they had a bit of time to themselves.

Redneck or not, the guy simply couldn’t walk around not knowing who Beyoncé was. He mixed things up with his favorites once he found out Blake couldn’t recognize  _any_  of Nirvana’s songs which was, quite frankly, appalling and needed to be fixed A.S.A.P.

It didn’t startle him, not exactly. Blake had been flirting with him since the moment they met and even though he flirted with everyone else Adam felt that it was different with him, that it meant more. He still froze for a second, lips slightly parted and tingling while Blake pressed his lush mouth against his, blue eyes at half-mast and hand tilting Adam’s chin up with the very tip of his fingers, like he was just testing the waters and was still worried about the possibility of Adam socking him for daring to kiss him.

Once Adam’s brain stopped short-circuiting, he made an embarrassing, needy noise and glided his lips over Blake’s until he was barely over the corner of his mouth, closing his eyes tight against the onslaught of electricity he felt just by that tiny point of contact and diving back in, fingers clutching Blake’s shirt, knees moving on the bed to inch closer to him.

He’d wanted to kiss Blake silly ever since he saw him but thought—stupidly, that was obvious enough—that giving Blake’s preferred genre in music it’d be near impossible to make him feel the same. Adam had tried anyway, of course, tried luring him in as subtly as he could and he didn’t know if that was what had convinced Blake of trying but he didn’t care.

He was too thrilled to care.

He’d made out with a lot of girls but kissing Blake was in a whole new level.

“Thank God this is okay,” Blake breathed, lips brushing his in every syllable, when they ran out of air and waited to have a smidgen of it back groping and reaching, Adam’s smaller frame fitting on Blake’s lap like he was made to be there.

He was startled when Blake kissed him high on the cheek, almost on the temple but not quite and brushing his lashes softly, in such a soft and reverent way that it made his breath hitch.

He kissed Blake’s forehead and looked at him like he was seeing him for the first time, fingers carding in his long hair.

“We’re in trouble,” he whispered.

Blake hummed in agreement, voice low and deep making Adam shiver, and pressed his forehead against Adam’s lips again like a dog eager to be petted.

Adam laughed, peppering his face with kisses until he got to his lips again.

They didn’t listen to music so much when they were alone, after that.

***

In retrospect, he should’ve known what was going to happen. It was probably his fault.

Blake had been very clear about his priorities, telling Adam they’d made it to the top 10 and it was farther than he ever thought he could go so he was going to have fun and do what he wanted, not what was expected of him anymore.

But damn it, Adam was mad. He knew Blake could win the whole thing and that he was pretty much sabotaging himself by… well.

Kissing Adam in front of a live audience and a good part of America on live TV.

He  _got_  it. He was so happy to be in the top 8, to be saved yet again because people liked his voice, and his first instinct once Carson revealed the results was running to hug Blake.

Everyone had laughed at their antics—Adam clinging to Blake’s neck, practically vibrating with joy, and Blake grinning from ear to ear, holding him in place so he’d stop jumping up and down—and Carson gave up after Adam refused to get off the stage three times, reading the name of the next contestant who was safe while Adam whispered reassurances in Blake’s ear and how much he was willing to bet he’d gotten the larger number of votes even if he was called last.

Then Carson said Blake’s name and Adam found himself with a big hand cradling his cheek and soft lips on his.

Most of the audience cheered along with the coaches and Carson but Adam heard it.

He heard the boos, the insults.

He wanted to smack Blake on the head for being so stupid but at the same time he was so fucking  _proud_  of Blake’s utter honesty he just couldn’t. He kissed him again instead.

If they were kissing the show goodbye—quite literally—might as well do it right.

***

They were together—they always were, these days, and Adam’s heart cringed whenever he realized that would stop eventually—when he first heard it on the news.

Apparently, their little display of affection was ‘outrageous’. There were some douchebags that even went as far as to say they were disgusting and shouldn’t be allowed to be in a family show because the children could—God forbid—try to  _copy_  them and that they and their families weren’t going to watch the show anymore because of them.

Before he knew it, Adam was flipping the screen the bird and prowling the room like a lion about to pounce but with no prey at hand to do so.

Blake watched him go back and forth quietly for a few minutes. He turned off the TV after many people expressed positive opinions about their relationship and the show but failed to make Adam less edgy and mad.

Then he cupped his head and kissed him sweetly no matter how many times Adam tried to turn it rough and filthy.

Adam’s heart eventually stopped trying to punch his way out of his chest. He calmed down, collapsing on top of Blake as he guided their bodies to his bed.

“We could be going home next week,” Adam mumbled, “I mean, we could be going home every week but now it could be because of—you know—not the songs or our voices.”  
“I know,” Blake said, petting his hair and stopping just for a second when it seemed to dawn on him too, “I’m still not sorry for kissing you.”

How could Adam not smile at that?

***

They made it through another week.

Adam didn’t know what the production of the show thought about them but he found out when Carson made sure both Blake and him stayed until the very end and were the last ones to be selected for the top 6.

Blake kissed him again. Adam was waiting for it this time and tried not to stiffen when the boos started to get louder once they got off air.

“New rule on the studio,” Carson said, pushing his voice above the whooping and the taunts, “If you have any problem with Adam and Blake being together, you’re not allowed here.”  
“Who wants them singing a duet next week?” Usher asked, receiving almost earsplitting acceptance of his suggestion. He smirked, eyebrows quirking and spurred them on in their screaming with his arms.

Adam blinked, suddenly very touched, and looked up at Blake who had a similar expression of disbelief on his face.

They knew their parents were okay with their relationship—Adam’s folks were more or less used to this sort of thing since his older brother had a boyfriend too and Blake’s ones were too fond of their son to think any less of him for it, thankfully—but the coaches and Carson and the staff being so okay with it was a pleasant, heart-warming surprise.

The audience began to clear the studio. Blake led him to the side of the stage with a hand around his waist and Adam followed, starting a little when he noticed Shakira, Christina and Kelly waiting for them on the stairs.

“I know we haven’t had the time to talk about this but guys, I’m so glad for both of you,” Christina said with a grin, “I watched you made goo-goo eyes at each other from day one. You had me biting my nails here, wondering when you were going to make a move!”  
Shakira giggled and nodded. “Even if you don’t win just because everyone deserves to win at this point of the competition, you found each other here and I think that’s so beautiful.”  
Kelly put a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “You know whatever happens that I got your back,” she stated and Adam felt the tension leaving Blake’s body and smiled, so relieved he almost sagged where he was standing.

The next time Adam read about them—in a tabloid this time, in the waiting room of Carson’s radio show—he was shocked about how little it bothered him anymore.

The important people in his life were okay with it and both of them were going to get signed when the show was over, whether they won or not.

The haters could go on and on all they wanted.


	5. turning the mike off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Carson and Blake decide to play a prank on Adam and turn off his speaker so when he speaks no one can hear him. Ush and Shak thinks that it's kind of funny, so they play along saying things like "I wish Adam was always this quiet." And because of how much the crowd likes it Carson and Blake keeps Adam's mike off and Adam feels kind of sad and hurt by it and insecure about his talking so he doesn't talk as much anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want Shevine you'll have to squint really, really hard. Just saying.

Adam blinks at his reflection on the windscreen, his face impassive and his eyes dull.

L.A. is never more alive than at night. There’s hardly a corner without noise, without people hurrying from one place to another, either in cars or on foot.

He rolls down his window enough for the racket outside to keep him company and drives.

He contemplates screaming but finds he’s too numb to try.

It’s too late. His voice got lost somewhere between his mind and his nerve endings, never making it to his mouth or his tongue, the command not even processed because there’s no point, he’s convinced of it now.

There’s no one around that can listen, no one who  _wants_  to listen.

And it’s the worst feeling in the world—being passed over even when he’s speaking up, when this horrible twinge settles on his middle and every disregarded word is one more slash, one more invisible wound landed on an invisible man that can do nothing but blink and breathe deep to remind himself he’s  _there_ , he  _is_ , he’s just, he’s not—not important.

He blinks, looks at his reflection on the windscreen and sees a petulant child, an oversensitive fool, a stupid,  _stupid_  guy who lets practical jokes get the better of him.

He grips the steering wheel tight and turns.

He drives and the familiarity of the city is not enough to soothe him but it has to be.

***

It catches him unawares.

One minute he’s talking, has the attention of most of the studio on him as he gives his honest opinion to the contestant who just performed, and the next he’s still talking but it’s too quiet, too quiet to be heard above the continuous whispering of the crowd, too quiet to be heard two feet from his seat.

Shakira looks questioningly at him. Adam taps his mike repeatedly, a frown forming on his face, and tilts his head towards the door that leads backstage, guilelessly trying to get the staff’s attention.

That’s when he hears it, booming and loud and exultant—Blake’s laughing like it’s going out of style and what throws Adam away from the get go is how he’s not even fucking looking at him, the dickhead, he’s just sitting there and cracking up like turning Adam’s mike off is the best idea he’s ever had.

“Do you hear that?” Blake asks, putting a hand to his ear and squinting in mock concentration, “That’s right! That’s the sound of Adam being quiet for once in his life, you’re welcome!”  
“It has certain appeal to it,” Carson says, smirking. He glances at Adam so fast everything he can do is blink and keeps on, “I could get used to it.”  
“Okay, ha-ha, very funny, guys—“ Adam tries cutting in.  
Shakira talks over him, which isn’t new really. “I’m sure he was going to say that’s one of his favorite songs. We’re not missing out.”  
“And that he loves you, probably,” Usher fills in, “See, we don’t need him.”

Adam opens his mouth to retort but the audience is in stitches and he can’t even hear his own thoughts so that’s a battle he’s lost without fighting it.

The mike stays off.

He hugs a leg to his chest, props his chin on his knee and waits for the show to wrap for the day.

***

He falls asleep with a hand curled around his iPhone and the other tight on his chest, fingers uselessly scratching a weight off that just won’t go away.

He wants to call Jesse, knows he’d pick up even though it’s late.

He doesn’t because he’s an idiot and he wants the comfort but doesn’t want to ask for it and none of his friends are mind readers so they don’t call and make him talk, they don’t call and listen.

They don’t call, not even Blake does.

Adam can’t figure out whether he’s bitter or glad about how he completely missed the fact he went too far this time.

Of all people, Adam thought Blake knew him better than that.

***

His mike is on the next day of tapping.

What’s off is his brain. He can’t think of a single thing to say.

He stays quiet and gives clipped answers every time Carson asks him for his input.

***

“Oh, for God’s sake, Adam,” Blake cries during the first break they have, cornering Adam before he can get off his chair, “Stop sulking, what are you, five? Production is gonna have to do miracles if you keep this up. You’re ruining today’s work, y’know, and that’s pretty rude.”

Adam pointedly doesn’t look up at him. He doesn’t flinch but that’s harder, that takes some effort, and he wishes he had the will to open his mouth and tell Blake to fuck off because he started it and he’s the one acting like a rude jackass but he doesn’t.

“I thought you guys didn’t need me,” he says instead, tone carefully blank.  
“Aw, man,” Usher makes a face and gives him an apologetic pat on the shoulder, “I was just trying to play along, sorry if I went a little overboard with that. I was kidding.”  
“Me too,” Shakira says, leaning down a bit to give him a quick hug, “Did we hurt your feelings, cariño? We’re so sorry, really.”

Adam shakes his head.

He knows this is his fault. It was a joke, it was obviously a joke, and he didn’t take it as such—it didn’t _feel_  like one—and if he got hurt then that’s his own fucking problem, isn’t it.

He takes a deep breath and smiles faintly, halfheartedly cracking a joke about Blake’s vest.

They laugh.

The tension diffuses.

They move on with the show.


	6. contestants!AU take 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A person who is against Blake and Adam's relationship jumps on stage and tries to hurt the two. Blake gets in front of Adam to protect him and gets hurt. Adam feels really guilty and sad. The judges and Carson is super angry and protective over the two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing from Chapter 2 and 4.

_Mama, oooh_ , Adam sang, body and soul merged with the notes he was hitting, face pinched with emotion, _I don’t wanna die, I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all._

It was the group performance of the top 4 and the rush of being on stage was as exhilarating as ever. Having Blake close by his side was a nice bonus and Adam, focused on the performance as he was, still found a couple of seconds here and there to smile playfully at him.

They didn’t make it to the next part of the song.

A burly-looking guy suddenly got on the stage and Adam stepped back just in time to avoid a nasty blow to the nose. He saw the kick coming right after but couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t move, couldn’t even understand what was going on let alone do something about it.

It didn’t land on his stomach. Blake pushed him to the side just in time to get it himself and Adam cried out when he heard a distinctive, sickening crack when the man’s boots connected with Blake’s body.

Security all but flung themselves on the asshole. They were quick and efficient in getting him out of the studio.

Adam heard Carson trying to appease the screaming crowd. His own heart beating an angry, panicky rhythm, he burrowed into Blake’s side and carefully placed a hand over the one his boyfriend had cradling his middle.

He bit his lip, tried to rein his tears in, and fumbled for something to say that wasn’t  _are you okay, are you hurt_  because he had the answers to those questions already and asking was fucking pointless.

Blake wrapped his other arm around him and nuzzled his forehead gratefully like it’d been Adam who did all the saving.

“You’re okay, thank God,” Blake breathed, pained.

Adam pushed his way through the lump in his throat to say thanks, only for something else to come out of his mouth.

“You stupid dickhead, what the hell did you do?”

Blake chuckled briefly, doubling over when he obviously aggravated his wound as a result. Adam used his free hand to wipe the sweat on his forehead, getting some brown curls out of the way, and stood on his tiptoes to give Blake a small kiss on the lips.

“You’re welcome,” the country singer grunted, somehow managing to sound amused and relieved, “You’re so little, I wasn’t gonna let him lay a finger on you.”

Medical appeared then, adamantly pushing Adam off of Blake and making him lie down on a stretcher to examine him.

“I’m fine, just a little sore,” Blake insisted, trying to stir the wandering hands of the doctors away from him, “I’ll put ice on it, no big deal.”

Adam shook his head, kneeling besides Blake and taking both of his hands on his to allow the medics to do their jobs.

“You dirty liar,” he accused, worry instead of venom making his voice waver, “I heard the hit and it sounded nasty so stay still and quit the macho bullshit, will you? You’re not fine.”

Blake hissed and squirmed, the skin where he’d gotten the kick a vicious, dark red already.

Adam barely registered the coaches and Carson kissing him on the cheek and patting his back as they made it out of the building and to an ambulance waiting at the back, his whole attention on Blake and whatever spare he had in putting one foot in front of the other.

At some point on the way to the hospital, he started trembling.

Someone put a blanket around him. Adam didn’t fight it, leaning into Blake’s hand on his cheek and kissing his knuckles over and over, trying and failing to stop the compulsion to apologize because of this mess.

It was all his fault, wasn’t it?

***

Blake ended up with two broken ribs and a big, ugly bruise all over the left side of his chest. He was given painkillers and instructions to rest for the next three weeks. He could sing as long as he didn’t move much, the doctors said. It was going to hurt a lot because breathing normally already did but Blake shrugged and said he could handle it.

***

“Wow,” Blake said, stunned, “Remind me not to ever get on Shakira’s bad side. Ever.”

Adam nodded, his jaw still close to the floor as they watched a recorded interview with the coaches and Carson about the incident during the last live show.

Shakira had promised, very eloquently and imaginatively, to deal with whoever came next and tried to hurt Blake and Adam. Half of her rant had been in loud, fuming Spanish and Adam wasn’t fluent enough in the language to understand it but it sounded scary as Hell and he felt oddly safe after hearing it.

Adam was more familiar with Christina than with the other coaches. He knew that his coach was petite but fierce and her anger was all the more dangerous because it was burning silently inside of her, patiently waiting for a chance to lash out.

Kelly had all but cheerfully explained the Hell Blake and Adam’s attacker was going through. Carson helped her, being very clear about how everyone on the show supported them one hundred percent and how they were going to be more selective with the audience to keep them safe.

Usher had insisted and personally hired more security for them. The pair of bodyguards watching silently outside of their room made Adam feel slightly uncomfortable but he knew better than to complain about it, appreciated the sentiment behind’s Usher over-the-top gesture despite of it.

Blake took it all in stride and even laughed about it, paying no mind to how much it hurt when he did.

“It’s hilarious, I’m telling you,” he drawled merrily, “I feel like I’m the president and someone’s tried to murder me.”

Adam smacked him on the head, crossing his arms and looking anywhere but at his too-optimistic boyfriend as he swallowed, guilt still clotting his veins.

“Excuse me if I don’t think it’s not even a little bit funny because you were hurt because of me,” he mumbled, not sure if he wanted Blake to hear him or not.  
But Blake did. “Adam,” he frowned, leaving the remote on his bed to go sit beside him, a warm hand squeezing his knee gently, “What are you talking about? This wasn’t your fault, don’t be stupid.”  
Adam huffed. “But if we weren’t together—“  
“I’d be pretty damn miserable, I can promise you that,” Blake filled in with such conviction Adam lost the argument he was going to make somewhere in his head, breath hitching when Blake leaned down to nose his cheek tenderly, pleadingly, “Don’t let them win, Adam. Don’t pull away from me because they don’t agree. Please.”

Adam sighed, entwining his arms around Blake’s neck and gingerly pressing his body against his, mindful of his still healing bones.

How could he ever say no to him?

“I’m not going anywhere, cowboy,” he vowed, writing his promise on Blake’s lips with his own, “Not without you.”

They had a life ahead of them.

Plenty of time to learn how to stand these things together.


	7. deaged!Adam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: a story where Adam is like de aged to a kid.

Blake is calmly sipping his latte when a mop of dark hair appears next to his chair.

He leans down, curious, and finds a cute little kid with green brownish eyes big enough to belong in a cartoon and a trembling bottom lip that is all the encouragement he needs to coo over him.

“Hi there, little guy. Is your mamma around?”

His words have pretty much the opposite effect that he’s looking for. The kid starts sobbing quietly into his sleeve and makes to break into a run on his short legs.

Blake peeps around. The members of the staff who’ve noticed the toddler’s presence in the studio are already asking for his relatives but in the meantime it seems Blake is all on his lonesome with him.

“Shhh, it’s alright, I got you,” Blake shushes him gently, scooping him up before he can run away and hurt himself tripping over some wire on the set or worse, “Wanna stay with me for a little bit, until we find your mom?” that gains him another sniffle, so keep mentioning his mother is definitely not a good idea, “We could have loads of fun! Look what I got here,” he shows him his mike, unlatching it from his shirt, “Isn’t it awesome? You talk and everyone can hear you with it. You know how’s it called?”

The child sniffs a little less, peering and poking the mike curiously until he seems to realize it’s not going to make any sound or anything actually cool and it completely loses his interest.

“No,” he mumbles defiantly, slapping Blake’s chest with his tiny hands, “No a’some.”

There’s something uncannily familiar about him but for the life of him Blake can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Ow, alright, alright, but it’s a mike and it is awesome when it’s on, trust me, buddy,” already despairing a little, Blake changes tactics and leans back on his chair, smiling at the kid as friendly as he can, “What’s your name? How old are you? I’m Blake and I’m old as a dinosaur.”  
“Adam,” the kid answers, tucking his little chin on his chest and pouting, dangerously close to full-blown whimpering again, his joke all but ignored, “Two.”

He laughs because that’s a damn funny coincidence and he even looks like Adam. He’d love the cocky rock star to be there with them but perhaps he was too early to tapping and Adam won’t arrive for a while yet.

He laughs a lot louder and harder than he should in purpose and starts making faces to make the kid laugh with him.

He looks at Blake in stunned and slightly terrified silence until Blake pokes his belly with a playful finger and he giggles.

Tickles it is, then.

Relieved, Blake lets him tickle him all over, chortling and asking for mercy, but little Adam won’t accept his yielding, choosing to keep nudging his neck and face with chubby fingers, face shining with mirth in a way that only children can manage, a bubbly and cute laughter making it out each time Blake gently strikes back just a bit.

“You know there’s another little buddy around here whose name is Adam?” Blake asks conversationally once they’ve bonded over tickling each other and little Adam is comfily resting on his thigh, looking up at him like he’s the most interesting thing in the universe which for the time being he assumes that he is, “But I like you better, yes I do!” the kid beams at him, lightly pulling at his shirt to demand more, “You’re so little, yes you are!”

He gets the appropriate reaction to his cooing this time. Little Adam—as he’s decided to dub him—perks up and giggles.

It’s then that a hand pats his shoulder. He holds the kid with a hand on his small back to make sure he won’t fall before looking to the side and meeting one breathless and agitated James Valentine.

“Where’s the fire, pal?” he asks, “You okay?”  
“Thank God you got him, I was freaking out,” James sighs, leaning on the arm of his seat to look at little Adam and smile at him, “Hello, naughty boy. Where do you think you were going, hmm?”  
The kid frowns adorably, mumbling, “Go ‘way,” before burrowing into Blake’s shirt.

It makes him smirk.

“He yours?” he asks James, thoroughly pleased with himself, “He doesn’t seem to like you one bit.”  
James rolls his eyes at him. “He’ll get bored of you too, you just wait,” he taunts only to sober up so quickly Blake almost gets whiplash from it, “And then you’ll turn around for one second and he won’t be there and you’ll spend the next fifteen minutes thinking you’ve murdered your best friend and it won’t be pretty, man, I can promise you that.”  
“Wow, hold it right there. Why do I have the feeling this little guy isn’t your cousin?”

James laughs hysterically for almost a whole minute.

“That’s Adam,” he says, dead serious, “As in, our Adam.”  
“Our Adam,” Blake’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. He looks down, sees that eerie resemblance again and swears, barely able to hold his tongue before spewing a bad word in front of a two year-old, “Holy sh—I mean, holy moly.“  
“Shit,” Adam—still little, but just Adam because it was one Adam all along, laughing cheerily when both Blake and James stare in horror at him, “Shit, shit—“  
“That’s probably my fault,” James admits with a wince, “Okay, buddy, we got it. That’s enough.”

Adam grins, a little shit already at the tender age of two, and Blake waves a hand to stop James from chiding him again because it won’t work.

“What in blue blazes happened?” Blake hisses while Adam is too distracted being cheeky.   
“Um, well, there was this weird dude who wanted to open for us,” James explains quickly under his breath, “He didn’t sing or played anything so we told him no, that we wanted music. He said he was a wizard that could do real magic and Adam told him that was awesome but that we only accepted artists who could play real music, not do tricks and well, obviously, the guy lost it and here you go.”  
“Adam’s big mouth, huh?” Blake sighs, “Typical. Mouth, insert foot.”  
James nods. “But I invited the guy, so technically this is on me too and I have to take care of him. His parents are on vacations.”  
“I can help,” he says, kissing Adam on the forehead noisily and wetly to distract him from his chipper cursing. It works and Adam squeals in surprised glee, tiny arms clinging to his neck to press a messy, gross kiss to his chin, “Oh, you got me!” to James he murmurs, “When is he going back to normal?”  
James purses his lips, muttering his reply like a dead sentence. “In a week. I, huh, came to talk with the producers.”  
“Oh, shit,” Blake breathes out, gawking when he realizes he said it out loud and Adam laughs and begins repeating it again, “Gosh darn it.”  
“Oh shit,” Adam chirps merrily.

James and Blake groan.

Oh shit indeed.


	8. turned-into-a-girl!Adam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Adam being turned into a woman and how Blake takes it. :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used [Lena Headey](http://socialpsychol.files.wordpress.com/2012/10/lena-headey-giuliano-bekor.jpg?w=605) as reference because that outfit was like screaming ADAM at me. Also she's gorgeous and has hazel eyes.
> 
>  **Warnings for this drabble:** attempted rape, internalized sexism.

Blake was stubborn. That meant he didn’t take no for an answer very easily so when Adam texted him and insisted he couldn’t by no means stop by to see him despite he was in L.A. and they hadn’t hung out in months, he did the only natural thing he could think of.

He paid his friend a visit anyway.

***

A stunning woman that he’d never seen in his life answered the door and stared at him.

He swallowed, awkward and feeling rather crass in front of her, and was about to turn tail and apologize to Adam for interrupting his hook-up with what had to be a successful model when he spotted them.

The tattoos on her arms and chest, beneath that little and almost translucent white tank top that showed her flat belly and creamy skin along with her nipples, those were incredibly familiar.

He gawped.

Those were  _Adam’_ s tattoos.

“Holy crap,” Blake exclaimed, “Adam!?”

The girl winced but motioned him in. Blake stumbled behind her, trying not to ogle her perfect little ass in those tight jeans and failing quite a bit but forcing his gaze up to see how her dark curls bounced as she walked instead.

“It’s supposed to wear off, hopefully soonish,” Adam finally spoke, her voice unmistakably feminine but her eyes the exact shade of hazel Blake was used to seeing, “I didn’t want anyone to see me so thanks a bunch for listening to me, asshole.”  
“You could’ve been a little more specific, y’know,” Blake stated, mouth dry, “What the hell happened to you?”

Adam sighed, rubbed her eye with slender fingers, and cocked her head towards the sofa.

She sat and looked up at him, small and hopeful, and Blake scrambled to sit beside her as close as he’d dare if she was a man, patting her knee gently and without a hint of insinuation despite of how unbelievably turned on he was by her body, by every little edgy and self-conscious motion she made.

She smiled, thankful, the quirk of her lips a fleeting, almost broken little thing that hurt to look at.

Blake realized with a sharp tug in his heartstrings that he missed  _Adam_ , missed the confident and unrepentant way he was beautiful and comfortable in his masculinity no matter how long his lashes were or how lean his waist was.

He pushed to the back of his mind how this tight sensation in his belly had always been there when they were together, it was just more prominent now that he felt  _allowed_  to feel it.

“This dude put something in my water,” she said, tucking a stray lock behind her ear, her voice quiet and her gaze casted down. Something in Blake’s gut twisted, already knowing he wasn’t going to like what was coming, “We’d just finished a concert and I was thirsty, I wasn’t exactly paying attention so I didn’t notice the lid was already open or the door of my dressing room closing behind me. I drank, passed the fuck out, and when I woke up, he—he was on top of me, trying to take my jeans off. I guess he forgot women are strong too, the motherfucker, because knocking him out was easy.”

Blake squeezed his knees, knuckles white and vision red at the edges, and carefully picked his words before speaking, not wanting Adam to turn defensive if he misunderstood him because he was too fucking pissed to put his feelings into the right words.

“Tell me he’s in jail,” he said, voice low and just a tad dangerous, “Tell me he’s rotting in jail or I swear to God I’ll send him to a worse place and gladly.”  
“He is, for now,” Adam shrugged, “Not for long, though, since he didn’t touch me or did anything to me beyond  _trying_.”  
“That’s ridiculous,” Blake sputtered, “What the hell did the police want, you letting him rape you so they could lock him away for a ‘good’ reason and since when  _trying_ isn’t enough of a good reason? You should sue the fuckers.”  
“Legally, no, it isn’t enough of a reason,” Adam held his gaze for a long moment, the green freckles in her eyes stoic and piercing, “We are all pigs. Men are, I mean, and apparently the law takes that as a right.”

Blake cursed under his breath, shaking his head in a futile attempt to get rid of the imaginative ways he was coming up with to show the police how to do their fucking job and make the sick bastard who’d turned Adam into a woman understand that beauty and a pussy didn’t equal to consent.

He only managed to do that when he felt Adam snuggling into his side, her body cold and small and so trustful it made him lightheaded with wonder.

“It wouldn’t hurt you, y’know,” he mumbled, putting his own jacket around Adam’s skinny shoulders, “Putting some more clothes on. It’s freezing outside.”  
Her laughter was anything but cheerful and light. “I knew you’d come anyway, cowboy,” she confessed, unabashed, “And I knew I could trust you but I needed to make sure so I did.”

Oh. So it’d been a test, then.

Thank God he passed.

It made him feel like an ass, wanting her so much without her say-so, but at least he wasn’t that much of an ass to  _act_  on it without it.

“Thank you,” she whispered, head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck, “For treating me like I’m still me.”

Blake surrounded her upper back with an arm and inhaled a deep, calming breath with his chin tucked in her hair.

She smelled of mint and cologne, just like Adam always did.

“Always,” he whispered back, still humbled, still marveled, “You’re always gonna mean the same to me, Adam. I’m always gonna have your back, no matter how you look.”

Adam smiled against his skin and let him hold her for a long while.


	9. nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Adam having a nightmare or something that scares him and being irrationally jumpy and stuff.... You can incorporate Blake however way you want... + Scared Adam for some reason and comforting Blake.

Adam had a vivid and dynamic imagination. It came in handy for composing and for artistry overall but it also meant he could turn the littlest ugly thing into the most abhorrent picture of the world in his mind while he slept.

It didn’t happen often but he had nights in which he woke up kicking and screaming, nights in which he had to grab an extra blanket along with the shreds of his dignity and sleep on the couch—he didn’t allow himself a bed, didn’t deserve one when he was being such a stupid fuck—after waking up his bed companion in a rather unbecoming, spectacularly awful fashion and hastily whispering every apology he could think of, along with promises of not doing it again that were nothing but lies.

“Get a fucking grip,” he would whisper to himself, eyes wide and unblinking as he tried to wipe too intense images off his brain of things that hadn’t happened, that wouldn’t happen not even in the worst case scenario, “It was a just a bad dream.”

A bad, horrible dream that sometimes featured dying animals and sometimes crawling insects and sometimes bleeding people and sometimes all of the above and had Adam sipping yogurt very gingerly and very slowly for a day and not much of anything else, stomach still roiling in horror.

Sometimes it wasn’t like that at all. Sometimes it would be just an empty stadium, a dropped mike that he couldn’t pick no matter how much he tried, or him standing alone on stage or just the continuous, prickling sounds of laughter at an undefined distance that he could never pinpoint or stop. Sometimes it would be him always alone no matter how much he walked or pleaded or screamed.

Those were the worst ones. He could barely move after them, so emotionally exhausted blinking and breathing were a feat all in themselves.

His mom always told him it was both a wonderful thing and a curse to be sensitive so even the smallest of brushes with the wrong things or the wrong people would trigger hours of agonized sleep, of nightmares Adam found himself not even able to explain, let alone stop from happening.

Alone in the living room with nothing but a thin blanket to cover his naked body, he decided it was definitely more of a curse.

He just wanted to go back to bed with Blake but couldn’t risk it, not so soon in their still tentative arrangement with each other.

***

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a big hand brushing damp hairs off his forehead, a gentle voice shushing him when he tried sitting upright.

“It’s alright,” Blake murmured, not a hint of anger in his voice despite of the hour, “It’s just me, darlin’, just your old and chunky boyfriend.”  
Adam smiled in spite of himself, kissing the palm that was still petting him. “You’re none of those things, Blake, don’t be silly.”

Blake hummed as if considering his sincerity. Adam glared at him as much as he could muster in the dark.

“You coming back to bed, then?” Blake asked, his words soft in that irresistible drawl of his, knuckles flicking over Adam’s stubbly cheek one, two, three times until Adam was practically purring with it, eyes closed and bent on surrendering to whatever the country singer wanted, “I miss you and your bed is too damn big for me alone.”

Adam chuckled—he hated his bed for precisely that reason, he could relate because when he didn’t have nightmares he dreamed of having someone to share it with, someone big enough for it not to be crushingly empty and cold anymore—and nodded a bit, stifling a yelp when Blake all but picked him up and strolled up the stairs.

***

After a few hours of blissful rest—Blake’s arms were so comfortable, not that Adam was going to admit that anytime soon—Adam was still panicky and biting back a scream each time someone sneaked up on him on accident, his nerves paper thin and his strength crumbling as the hours ticked away and the long day of tapping still wasn’t over.

His skin was itching with the need to get the fuck out of there when Blake hugged him, long and tight and all-encompassing, and Adam gave in and to Hell with the implications of such a touch with people around, to Hell if their carefully crafted shield—their  _bromance_ —wasn’t enough to cover it up this time.

Blake’s arms were the one place where he could close his eyes without the prickle of fear in his nape, without his heart beating a swift demand for him to open them and look out, without his mind coming up with a hundred reasons why he shouldn’t let his guard down, not in that moment.

Blake made him felt safe, so safe it was terrifying and beautiful all in one.

“I wanna go home,” he muttered like a spoiled child because fuck it, maybe that’s what he was, holding onto the lapels of Blake’s jacket and burying his face in his neck.  
Blake chuckled, a pleasant rumble going through his chest, and pressed a kiss to his hairline, “Now, now, I know you’re a lazy ass, Adam, but we ain’t done just yet,” he said aloud for the audience,” to him he whispered, “I know, honey, we’re going home soon, just hang in there for me and I’ll make it all better, alright?”

Adam broke apart just enough to look up into his eyes for a short moment,  his answer plain for Blake to see in the moist eagerness of his eyes, and hit him right on the chest, huffing and walking away indignantly as the audience laughed and squealed around them.

***

He woke up with tears on his face and caring lips wiping them away, a string of sweet comforts murmured close to his ear.

He blushed bright red in embarrassment and sucked in air, hastily muttering an apology and tossing his legs to the side of the bed to get up.

“Where ‘you going?” Blake asked, confused, refusing to let go of his waist, shins closing in a loose grip around his to make sure he’d stay put.  
“Downstairs,” Adam replied, downcast, but not really trying to break free because he really didn’t want to be alone, not in that moment, not ever, “So you can sleep.”  
“I’ll sleep when you sleep,” Blake said, so adamant and quick it made Adam pause, “You just had one Hell of a nightmare, Adam, I’m not leaving you alone so you can have more. C’mere, come closer, don’t go shy on me now. I’ve kissed every inch of you and this is no different, isn’t something I don’t want to see. Don’t be ashamed of being scared.”  
Adam gasped, face flushing again for a different reason at that reminder. “But—“  
“Oh, no, no butts except our own in this bed. C’mon.”

Adam giggled at the awful pun, shaking his head in both disbelief and awe at how giving and understanding Blake could be.

He snuggled closer, tucking every bit of his body that was humanly possible in Blake’s warmth, and closed his eyes.

He kissed Blake’s pulse point and sighed, hoping good dreams could come this time but finding himself not fearing the bad ones as much, not with Blake there to face them with him.


	10. mushy goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: blake and ADAM AS BOYFRIENDS AND LEAVING THE VOICE SET WITH A MUSHY GOODBYE LIKE I LOVE YOU NO I LOVE YOU MORE CALL ME AND THE OTHER JUDGES AND STAFF ARE ALL LIKE OMG YOU GUYS ARE LITERALLY GOING TO SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN THE NEXT DAY MINUS THE FACT THAT YOU GUYS ARE GOING TO CALL EACH OTHERS TONIGHT AND STUFF YEAHHHH MUSHY GOODBYE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will give you cavities. Just so you know.

It happens in the hallway just inside the back door of the set, with Carson and Shakira and Usher and even a couple of guys from the band behind them as unwilling witnesses of their parting for the night.

It’s just for a few hours, really, and they’ve decided to go their separate ways to get some much-needed sleep that they can’t get if they’re anywhere near each other and alone.

“You’ll call, right?” Adam asks breathily, a soft sound escaping him when Blake insists on gliding hot and lush lips over his, the taste of him so familiar and appealing he can’t stop himself from chasing it, silently pleading for more, “Fuck, I’m going to miss you so much, it’s not fair. Come home with me, Big Country, come on, you know you want to—“

Blake groans, kisses the rest of his plead off his mouth and pins him to the door.

Someone clears their throat behind them. Neither of them gives two shits about it or about the scandalized gasp that follows when Blake dips his head lower and murmurs dirty promises to Adam’s ear and Adam makes that soft sound again.

“I love you,” Blake declares, leaves a trail of kisses all over Adam’s face that make him giggle and blush and stand in the very tip of his toes to give him more skin to dote on, mindful of Blake’s perpetual back pain of a lifetime of hunching over, “You play dirty but damn it, I love it, and I love you so much I just want to—“  
“Hey!” Usher cuts in indignantly, “Some of us want to get out in this century and don’t want to hear your undying love confessions, can’t you guys move it somewhere else?”  
“—dedicate you every goddamn love song that exists and write a thousand more for you,” Blake keeps on, completely overlooking Usher’s protest. Adam tries to kiss him silent but it’s halfhearted at best, he does adore Blake being so loud in how head over heels he is for him, “And sing them to you while you’re falling asleep next to me, and then wake you up with my voice and my kisses and see the first thing you do is smile that pretty little smile that’s only for me.”  
“Love you too, you giant sap,” Adam promises, arms encircling Blake’s neck as he presses kisses all over his stubbly cheeks until his lips sting, “Call me when you go to bed so I can hear your voice before going to sleep, okay? You know how much I love your voice.”  
“I do,” Blake grins, nuzzling his nose when he’s done, forehead pressed against his and hands comfy and tight around his waist, “And I love yours too, but I love you more.”  
“No, I love you more,” Adam sing-songs, hearing distantly a woman sighing that is probably Shakira, some part of his not-love-addled brain supplies sluggishly, “You sure you don’t want to come home with me?”  
“Don’t be mean, darlin’,” Blake breathes, burrowing into one of his favorite places which is the crook of Adam’s neck, “I’m only a man. You keep asking me so prettily and I’ll say yes.”  
“Oh God, alright, out with you,” Carson finally snaps, turning the doorknob and pushing both of them outside, “You are literally seeing each other again in less than ten hours. You can’t say bye to each other? Fine, I’ll help!” he stirs a stunned Adam towards his car along with Usher and Adam sees Paul and a giggling Shakira leading Blake to his, “You owe me big, you hear? You are worse than a pair of kids who’d just discovered how awesome making out can be. You two are  _gross_.”  
Adam waves Carson and his rant off, ducking to blow a kiss to Blake who is walking backwards to his truck, “I love you, baby!”  
Blake beams. “I love you too, sweetheart, I’m calling in half an hour!”  
“I’ll be waiting! Love you!”  
“Love you more!”

Carson sighs, long-suffering, and Usher mutters something about mind bleach under his breath.

Adam sticks out his tongue at them and doesn’t start his car until he’s blown three more kisses to Blake’s general direction.


	11. kidfic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: blake/adam becoming parents for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [tylrhoechlns](http://tylrhoechlns.tumblr.com/) because it was her birthday.

They’d come a long way from thinking about it to actually putting some serious effort into making it happen and then even traveling to the small orphanage in China to pick their baby girl up.

They named her Hope and it was not only a beautiful name but an appropriate one too. She had a Chinese name as well, one neither Adam or Blake could pronounce correctly just yet, but they were sure they’d have time to learn and if they never quite managed it, then Hope was going to be their teacher when she was older and decided to embrace her roots.

This was their first week with her and it was proving to be taxing but they were expecting it to be exactly that and were prepared and still thrilled about having a daughter they could raise together.

Adam didn’t remember sleeping at all in the last couple of days, nothing besides a quick half an hour catnap somewhere around noon, and trying to lie down beside Blake had proven impractical as soon as their daughter started crying and Adam tried soothing her with songs and rocking her in his arms for at least forty minutes because the doctor had been very adamant in how they weren’t supposed to feed her every hour or every time she cried either, that at the very worst they’d have to let her cry but Adam hadn’t managed to develop the ability to stay still while she might need him yet and doubted he was ever going to.

She was two months old and had the most lovely face, her nose tiny and her eyes lively, and had quite the set of lungs too, still refusing to adopt the time zone in the States and waking them both at odd hours even when it was supposed to be the short four-hours night little babies of her age could sleep without waking up.

He spilled some baby formula on the back of his hand to make sure it wasn’t too hot and began feeding her, smiling tiredly when she clasped her tiny hands around his fingers holding the bottle and leaned down to peck her forehead.

He felt a warm kiss on his brow and smiled a little more, looking up at the disheveled glory that was Blake at two and a half in the morning.

He looked back at her, remembering everything he’d read about maintaining eye contact and caressing the baby while feeding. She made a soft, happy gurgling sound and kept on sucking once he caught her eyes.

“Aww, look at that,” Blake cooed, crunching in front of the rocker and brushing careful, reverent fingertips on Hope’s chubby cheeks which resulted in another joyful little sound, “She adopted you as her mama already.”  
Adam rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling, detecting the fond tone beneath Blake’s quiet teasing, “Dumbass. When I begin growing teats I’ll let you know and you can start calling me mama, until then keep it to your alone time with your right hand.”  
Blake grinned, his hand sneaky but gentle as it searched his to entwine their fingers together beneath Hope’s little body. “But I don’t have much of that, you’re somehow always there. I wonder why that is?”  
Adam yawned, eyelids drooping but tongue still sharp enough to retort something. “Someone has to make sure you still know how to do it, granpa, it gets kinda hard at your age.”  
“Jackass.”  
“You love me.”  
“I do,” Blake agreed, stretching to press a kiss to his temple and staying close to brush his lips, kissing the corner of his mouth tenderly, “You’re the prettiest mom ever, I’m so damn lucky.”  
Adam breathed out a weak, weary laugh. “You’re damn right you are because I love you too and I’ll let that slide, dipshit.”

They realized at the same time they’d been cursing back and forth for a while and winced.

“So when do you think we should, huh, start behaving more like suitable parents?” Blake asked, quiet and contrite.  
“And less like a couple of idiots who have no idea what they’re doing?” Adam snorted, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively before shushing Hope that began complaining when she was full and delicately putting her against his chest to pat her back as gently as he could to make her burp, “I’d say—let me think—huh, yeah, never.”  
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Blake chuckled, and waited until Hope burped three times and seemed to be done before taking her from Adam’s arms, gently wiping her chin with a soft cloth, “Go to bed, I’ll tuck her in. And next time is my turn, you hear? You need to get some rest.”  
“Arms—“  
“Outside of the blanket, yes, honey, I know.”

Adam kissed Blake on his right eyebrow and sighed, doing as he was told even when their baby began making these peeved little sounds that were about two seconds from turning into whimpers.

He didn’t even make sure the monitor was on, tried to be a little less of a control freak and a little more a good parent who shared duties with his partner.

He stayed for at least five minutes outside the door, not to make sure Blake was doing a good job, just to hear him singing a lullaby to her, feeling like his heart had just grown four sizes and had to forcibly removed himself from there to go lie down in bed, waiting for Blake as he fought against sleep.

The monitor was on and he kept hearing Blake’s quiet voice, smiling when he noticed Blake was sticking to his falsetto since they’d both read somewhere—and it proved right quite fast once they began taking care of Hope—that babies didn’t like deep voices that much, not at first.

He was damn lucky, too.

He was the luckiest man in the world.


	12. panicking!Adam + comforting!Blake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: someone breaks into Adam's house and Blake is there for him.

Adam blinks awake, head pounding in protest and exhaustion, and sighs.

 

He grabs his iPhone from the bedside table and the only thing that stops him from swearing out loud is his grogginess.

Three in the morning, really? He’s been home for over an hour and maybe it’s the silence what woke him up—it can get oppressive for him, sometimes, because silence is just too close to loneliness in his book and that’s not something he can bear, not really—until he hears muffled voices coming from downstairs and covers his mouth just in time to keep from making a sound.

Fuck, there are people—thieves that believe there’s no one home, kidnappers that broke into his place to take him with them, fuck if he knows—he’s definitely not familiar with right in his living room and they sound angry, getting louder by the second.

He scrambles to hide under the bed and dials 911, heart jumping to his throat and staying there, every thump threatening to cut his breath off and making him dizzy.

He forces his breathing to stay slow and even.

It’s really not the time to panic.

***

“ _Is there anywhere safer in your house where you can wait for the police to arrive?_ ” the operator asks him, firm but gentle, after finding out where exactly Adam is talking to her from.  
“No, I don’t know,” Adam bites the inside of his cheek and shuts his eyes tight, hearing heavy footsteps on the stairs seemingly coming straight to him, “I—I should shut up. They’re coming.”  
“ _Leave the phone on the floor next to you so we can hear what’s going on_ ,” she instructs, “ _I’ll stay on the line with you. Try to remain calm, Adam. Help is on the way._ ”

Adam puts the phone on the ground with a trembling hand, as closer to the edge of the bed as he dares to, and waits.

***

He hears them arguing, wrecking his place in search of God only knows what.

At least Bones and Charlie are safe with his parents, Adam thinks at the first gunshot.

He’s just come back from touring and didn’t have time to pick them up yet.

***

His thoughts are jumbled and fast, hysteria lapping at him in waves that are harder and harder to resist with each minute that ticks away.

The hardwood is cold under his bare skin but he can barely feel it.

***

The thing he regrets the most as a gloved hand closes around his ankle and  _pulls_  is how he didn’t have the guts to kiss Blake goodbye that weekend.

Why didn’t he?

He wanted to.

***

They think, for whatever ridiculous reason, that Adam is hiding money in a safe that doesn’t exist.

They beat him with fists and boots and press the barrel of a gun to the back of his neck until he’s sobbing to try and get him to ‘confess’.

That’s when the L.A. police department arrives.

Adam isn’t sure how but he rolls back to his hiding place and hears the commotion as if from a distance, the shouting and the gunshots surreal and muted as if on a movie that he just decided to stop paying attention to.

His back against the wall underneath the headboard, he covers his face with both hands and kicks left and right every time someone tries to reach him.

***

They leave a blanket near him but Adam can only stare at it through his fingers and shiver.

The voices around him are quiet this time but it’s still too close.

He screams for them to leave him alone.

They don’t listen.

***

He cries until the panic is a dull, thick thing in his chest.

He still doesn’t let anyone touch him and stays right where he is, refusing to get out no matter what words they use to try convincing him.

They leave the room for a bit but Adam can hear them just outside, waiting for him to crawl back into the light.

He doesn’t.

***

“Adam?”

Adam takes a shuddering, loud breath, a gasp that leaves him almost boneless on the floor.

“ _Blake_ ,” he breathes out, awed and hopeful, opening his eyes for the first time in what feels like hours to see Blake’s big head poking under the bed, blue eyes almost blinding but incredibly, mercifully familiar.  
“You’re safe now, I promise,” Blake says, his smile forced but reaching his eyes despite of it. The hand he extends to Adam is careful and gentle, palm up and fingers spread for him to reach out and hold on to, “Think you can try to come to me, buddy?”

Adam looks around to the several sets of feet still in his room. He shakes his head, ashamed, but grips Blake’s hand all the same to make sure he won’t leave despite Adam is disappointing him.

Blake turns his head and barks, “Out, all of you. He needs space, damn it, not an army of people he doesn’t even know ready to jump on him.”

Adam stares at the back of his neck, at those well-known brown-grey-red curls, in a daze and stutters a sigh, too wrung-out to keep crying but still scared and upset to do much else.

Once they’re alone he crawls out quickly, before he can think better of it, and lets Blake wrap him in a blanket, his hands sneaking out to grasp the lapels of his jacket and his nape as they kneel on the floor.

His face must be just one big, ugly bruise but Blake cups it gingerly and tenderly, mindful of the puffy skin Adam can feel pulling and burning on his eyes and cheeks and jaw, looking at him like there’s not a single thing wrong with him with a relieved, thankful expression on his face.

Gentle fingers prod here and there where the skin is thinner and the bone is stinging, gone almost raw from the abuse. Warm lips brush against the deepest of the cuts on his cheek, slowly but surely reaching his temple to press a kiss there that won’t hurt.

“You’re safe now,” Blake repeats, “No one’s going to hurt you again. Can I take you out of here?”

Adam licks his split lip, the metallic aftertaste on his tongue drawing two errant tears out of his eyes, and nods weakly, letting Blake rearrange the blanket to cover his boxers and thighs before picking him up.

He keeps his hands in this time but holds on to Blake with his legs around his hips, closing his eyes and pushing everything that isn’t the country singer’s warmth against him out of his mind.


	13. everyone gives blake the shovel talk part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Blake indirectly hurts Adam. I was asked to used this [pic](http://static.tumblr.com/14254edae0eb982e4f33b74130200123/fxrt6me/PSbn7sthk/tumblr_static_dnf4dvypyy0o4wcsc40ggc00c.gif) too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows up from Chapter 1 and 3.

It happened after a live show.

Adam had just lost two of his artists and that always felt like a punch in the gut so he wasn’t in the best of moods.

Blake still had his team intact and was chatting animatedly with Carson.

Adam did his best to focus on comforting his team and easing the anxiety that his last girl standing had being the only one left to represent him in the competition.

After almost an hour, he said goodbye and went back to collect his boyfriend from wherever he was celebrating with his own team.

He found him on the stairs of the stage, surrounded by his artists while some members of the staff were still busy dismantling the props they’d used that night.

“It’s a real pity for those girls,” Blake was saying and Adam froze. Was he talking about his team? “I wanted both of them but they picked Adam. They’d still be here if they’d made the right choice.”

 _He’s kidding_ , Adam thought, even though it didn’t sound like Blake was joking at all and it was obvious he did believe it was all Adam’s fault, that he’d gone and ruined two amazing careers because he wasn’t a good coach.

Adam turned back on his heels and ran to his car.

When his cellphone started ringing with Blake’s tune, he threw it to the backseat and wiped his tears angrily.

He didn’t even feel like he had any right to be upset.

Blake was only telling the truth, after all.

He took a deep breath and twisted to reach his phone in the next red light.

He answered and told Blake he was tired and that they’d see each other the next day.

Blake complained he’d gone without giving him a goodbye kiss and Adam was pretty sure he was pouting.

It brought a watery smile to his face.

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, baby,” he promised, voice even, one hand on the wheel and the other dabbing his face, “I just want to go to bed.”  
“ _You better_ ,” Blake said, “ _You’re a sore loser but I love you anyway. Sleep tight, my darling._ ”  
Adam tutted. “Season isn’t over yet, dickhead. Save the smugness for later or so help me, I’m going to punch it out of you.”  
Blake chuckled. “ _I’d like to see you try. If you do a good job, I’ll even pretend it hurt a little._ ”  
“Asshole.”  
“ _Jackass._ ”  
“I hate you.”  
“ _You love me. Good night, sweetheart, I’ll miss you._ ”

Adam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and turning left on the next exit.

He couldn’t even make Blake sleep on the couch when he was angry, of course he couldn’t hit him and mean it. Blake knew that and never took him seriously because of it.

He texted James to make sure he wouldn’t be intruding and spent the night at his place.

His friend chastised him for getting too emotionally invested in his singers but stayed with him and held him until he stopped weeping all the same.

Adam made sure to cry until the hurt and misery inside of him turned softer enough at the edges for him to be able to handle them without breaking.

***

They had an interview on set the next morning.

Blake said pretty much the same thing Adam had already heard the previous night but this time his tone was definitely a playful deadpan.

He was pulling Adam’s leg—and maybe it’d been a joke all along and he’d just been too dumb to notice, fuck if he knew anymore—and Adam played along, faking a few sobs that made everyone laugh.

***

“It really got to you this time, didn’t it?” Blake murmured against his temple, showering his hairline with soft kisses until Adam sighed and snuggled closer to him.

Adam fiddled with the top buttons of Blake’s shirt, thinking it was now or never if he wanted to find out whether his partner had been joking or not.

“You think I did something wrong?” he asked, quiet and careful, “That I could’ve done something different?”

Blake’s arm tensed around his waist and his thumb paused in its lazy, absorbing tracing of the slope beneath Adam’s right hipbone.

It was only for a moment but Adam felt his chest closing in on him while it lasted.

“You couldn’t have done a better job,” he said, resolute, “Hell, I’d probably would’ve done something pretty similar. There’s no telling what people are going to like or not, you know that. Don’t let it eat away at you, honey.”

Adam nodded slightly, buried his face a little more in Blake’s chest, and confirmed he was just being stupid.

It wasn’t the first time Blake made fun of his job as a coach anyway and it wouldn’t be the last.

He closed his eyes, feeling Blake’s lips pressing a kiss to his hair, and smiled.


	14. secret admirer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Adam getting secret love notes and stuff on the set of the voice. Adam pretends to hate it, but secretly loves it and blushes and smiles a small pleased smile every time he gets a letter. Later, it is revealed that it is Blake.

It was a normal day of tapping. Or at least it had been, so far.

Adam had just come back from break with a latte when he found Christina alone giggling and raised his eyebrows at her.

She wasn’t even checking her phone, what was so funny?

“Someone has a secret admirer,” Christina said before he could ask, tilting her head towards Adam’s chair with a grin on her face.  
“What?” Adam walked the remaining steps to his seat and rolled his eyes as soon as he caught a glimpse of a piece of paper with cropped letters on top of it, “Guys, this isn’t funny! Fuck you, this looks creepy as Hell.”

Quite honestly, Adam thought it was one of those threatening letters serials killers sent in movies before going for their victims but it was actually a poem. A love letter.

And a really stupid joke. Jesus, he was going to kill them.

CeeLo and Blake were just taking their respective places and looked at him curiously.

Adam glared and waited for an explanation, waving the letter so they could see it.

“It wasn’t me, brother,” CeeLo said, raising his arms in surrender.  
“What does it say?”  Blake asked, squinting at it from his chair, “Is it that bad?”  
“No, it’s—huh—“ Adam shook his head, lowering the paper with a sigh, “So you guys didn’t do it?”  
“It’s a love letter,” Christina stated cheerily before they could reply, “Our Adam here is as always a heartbreaker.”  
Adam frowned. “You know, you’re having way too much fun with this, Christina.”  
She gave him an unimpressed stare. “Please. I wouldn’t inflate your ego any more than it already is. And I’d do it more tastefully, you know, not with a collage a six-year-old with some magazines could do.”  
Adam made a face. “Okay, got it, you didn’t do it.”  
“Come on, Adam, read it to us,” Blake prompted, “I wanna know what it says!”  
Adam flushed. “It’s just some poem, it’s not—Hey!”

CeeLo chortled and skimmed the letter he’d just snatched from his seat.

He cleared his throat. Adam cringed and covered his face with both hands.

“I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,” CeeLo recited, pausing to make an approving face, “I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way.”  
Blake made that lame attempt at whistling he did sometimes, clearly impressed. “Well, that’s deep. I’d be mighty flattered, Adam, if I was you.”

Adam didn’t have time to reply. Carson came back and CeeLo was all too happy to oblige when he asked him to read the poem again.

Adam groaned and cursed, embarrassed but a little pleased in spite of himself.

He didn’t remember the last time someone had done something so romantic for him.

He pretended he didn’t give a shit but carefully folded the letter and put it in his pocket when no one was looking.

***

It happened again a week later. The letter had lyrics from one of Adam’s favorite songs and he had to hide a smile behind his hand when he read it.

Whoever this really bored, really cheesy person was, at least they had good taste.

***

The next time it wasn’t a note but a huge bouquet of blue roses that barely fit in his arms.

Adam had never contemplated the idea of getting flowers, let alone  _enjoying_  it, but the roses were so carefully arranged and dyed he couldn’t help but loving them. There were buds in between blooming roses and they were all fresh and soft to the touch.

Their perfume filled the studio, sweet and intense and definite.

Christina looked positively jealous.

“That must have cost a fortune,” she said, one perfectly-plucked eyebrow lifted in wonder, “It’s definitely not a joke, Adam.”  
Adam scrunched his nose. “It’s still corny as fuck,” he said. He heard someone from the staff sneezing loudly and cocked his head to the side quickly, “Bless you!” to Christina he said, “I don’t even like flowers, man, what am I supposed to do with these?”  
Christina rolled her eyes and stood up to swat him with her fan. “You put them in water and change it every day until they start withering. I’d save one or two in a book too, you know, to dry and keep as a memento of that one time someone got me a hundred roses that are so special they don’t even  _exist_.”

Adam felt the sudden urge to cradle the roses closer to his chest and dodged a second smack from his fellow coach when he pretended he was just going to take them out to the trash.

He ran to his trailer and did what she told him to, feeling very tempted to take one of the flowers back to the set with him.

He took a photo and uploaded it to Instagram instead.

 _Almost nice_ , he typed like a cheeky bastard, already looking forward for whatever the person who was doing this was going to send him next.

He couldn’t quite stop smiling slightly for the rest of that day but no one called him out on it, not even Blake who looked at him long and hard like he wanted to say something.

“What?” Adam asked, frowning a little, “Are you jealous too, Big Country, should I buy yellow roses for you next week?”  
Blake cracked up. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind that, Adam, I wouldn’t mind that at all especially if they are red roses.”  
“Yellow, dude,” Adam insisted, “Platonic love, even you have to know that.”  
“But that’s not how I feel about you, baby,” Blake quipped and there was something sad in his eyes, some kind of signal in his smile waiting for Adam to decipher it but he blinked, looked closer and it was gone.  
“That joke is getting old, seriously.”

***

It kept happening. Sometimes it was a poem, sometimes a bit of a lyric that Adam recognized immediately, sometimes a single red, orange or yellow with red tip rose with no thorns.

The last note was a lyric and it took a bit to remember where it was from but he did.

_When I look in my future you’re all I can see_  
_I’m asking pretty please_  
_Honey, don’t go loving on nobody but me._

He caught Blake closing the door of his trailer and ushered him back in with a wild gesture.

“What is it, little buddy?” Blake asked, peering at him, curious and slightly concerned, “No love letter today? You started missing them?”  
Adam huffed. “Shut up,” he waved the piece of paper in front of his nose, “I got one with one of your stupid songs in it, look.”

Blake stared at him with a strange expression on his face. He took the note and glanced at it, nodding when he seemed to recognize his song.

“I wish they could just tell me who they are,” Adam admitted quietly, ducking his head so Blake hopefully wouldn’t see his blush.  
“They?” Blake repeated, “A guy, you mean? You don’t think it’s some girl from the audience or something like that, one of your groupies maybe?”  
“I don’t have  _groupies_.”  
“Yes, you do.”  
“Whatever,” Adam made a face, seizing the paper back to keep it in the inner pocket of his jacket, “No, I don’t think so. It’s too elaborated and—and sweet, okay? And I’m fucking tired of not knowing, I don’t care if it’s a dude or not, I want to—“  
“What?” Blake pressed, “What are you gonna do, when you find out?”

Adam took a deep breath. He had a hunch and maybe he was going to be awfully wrong but he was nothing if not daring so he took another step closer to the country singer—who had been watching him get the presents all this time with too much interest from the side, smiling a secretive smile every time Adam made a show of disliking whatever it was that was on his chair only to take it reverently in his fingers and touch it delicately when he was alone, wondering who could be the one who cared so much for him to spend that much time thinking what to give him and get nothing in return—and put a hand on his chest, over the top buttons that allowed a bit of skin to show over the shirt, vest and jacket Blake was wearing.

“I’m going to take  _him_  to dinner,” he said, looking up at him and smiling when he caught the flash of understanding in Blake’s blue eyes, “and we’re going to have the most amazing first date and then I’m going to—“

Blake leaned down with his eyes half-closed and gave a stunned Adam a ghost of a kiss on the lips.

“That sounds great,” Blake murmured, voice a bit too raspy like there was something catching in his throat and Adam couldn’t help but cling to his shoulders and hold him tight.

There was something incredibly humbling in having this much of attention and love only to himself.

“But I like surprises, so don’t tell me the rest,” Blake asked softly, words muffled as he buried his face on Adam’s shoulder.  
“Okay,” he agreed, awed, and let Blake hold on to him for as long as he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first poem is Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda.
> 
> Blake's song is "Nobody but me".
> 
>  **Meaning of the roses**  
>  _blue:_ the unattainable, the impossible.  
>  _red:_ romantic love, beauty.  
>  _orange:_ desire, fascination.  
>  _yellow with red tips:_ falling in love.  
>  _rose without thorns:_ love at first sight.  
>  *A single rose of any color depicts utmost devotion.


	15. shevine duo at the blinds AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Kinda a twist on your teenage shevine contestant fic. I want Adam and Blake to perform as a duo on the voice and they're already together. And Adam is nervous, but Blake comforts him and they blow the judges away, especially with their unique pop/country mix. And they think that they're both adorable together.

Adam has made fun of people in love enough to be cheesy and irrational for most of his life.

He’s only ever stuck to one side of love—the side with the tangled sheets, the sweaty, hot limbs finding each other and rolling and rocking together. He’s only ever been a fan of the physicality of it, of the beauty of sex. A sensuality junkie, if you please.

He meets Blake when he’s twenty and has the bitterness and the pessimistic, acerbic bite of an seventy year-old with gout instead of the hopefulness and eagerness of a young adult.

Apparently Blake finds that intriguing. Challenging, too. He has yet to meet a person he can’t make smile truthfully, yet to meet a person he can’t make laugh and forget about his problems for a minute, yet to meet a person who can take his optimism away from him and open up his eyes to the cruelty and hopelessness of things.

It’s when Adam discovers they’re both singer-songwriters that he makes his first mistake, that one that is so great it can also be described as the best decision he’s made in his life.

He looks into Blake’s earnest blue eyes and listens.

And if later the sky never gains back its own color, if it’s only ever Blake’s eyes reflected on it every time Adam looks up with his heart filled with things that should make it heavy and overwhelming but that has never felt lighter and better—there’s a contradiction, a joke in there somewhere but Adam can’t be bothered with it; he’s ecstatic and carefree and too busy writing songs about real love now, about that side that was always too much—too scary, too deep, too likely to end up wrong and robbing Adam of the self-control he’s cherished ever since he learned what it was.

He learns falling in love means letting go and that it can be exhilarating and the best thing that’s ever happened to you if the person you love is right there ready to catch you at the last second, before you can crash and drown in a sea of feelings that are too wide and vast to swim alone.

Blake gives up things that he’s loved and cherished only to be with Adam. He moves into Adam’s shabby apartment in L.A., gets a job playing the guitar and singing in a dingy bar and does a marvelous job at pretending that’s everything he’s ever wanted and needed in his life, that having Adam means it’s enough even though it isn’t and his dream is a fond memory that he revisits every time he writes music but Adam knows better, Adam knows _him_ and he promises he won’t let Blake’s stupidly giving and loving nature get the better of him.

He gathers all the necessary information and tells Blake he should audition for The Voice.

“I bet they’d fight to have you,” he says, confident, because Blake is tall and handsome and kind and funny and talented and Adam wants the world to know him, to love him, “And you could win the whole thing.”

He learns that loving someone enough for it to be the real deal—which is too much, really, and if you’re not ready it can break you in half a hundred times until there’s nothing left but little pieces of you—means you’re ready to share them and that you even want to share everything that can be shared about them, what makes them who they are if not what makes them _yours_.

Blake gapes at him, takes a look at the pages Adam printed for him—they don’t make enough money to have a computer, spend every little spare they have in their music—and kisses him like if he blinks Adam could be gone, doesn’t relent until they’re both giddy and wheezy and Adam has trouble remembering what they were talking about for a minute.

“I don’t wanna do it alone,” Blake pouts, he fucking _pouts_ , “Let’s sign up together!”

“Blake,” Adam sighs, touched in spite of himself, “You’re a Country artist. I don’t think people are going to vote for you if they know that you happen to be gay. It’s not a good idea.”

“Well, fuck them,” Blake gripes and at least he knows better than to say _We don’t need them_ because they do, they _would_ if they made it to the live shows, that is, “Adam, I’m not gonna hide you. I’m not ashamed of you. If you don’t want us to audition as a duo I’m going to spend time gushing over you anyway. I’m not gonna hide who I am and you’re a part of me. The best part.”

Adam smiles and kisses him, deep and grateful and more than half terrified. He thinks about trying to convince him to go in alone, thinks about another year scraping out a living working as a waiter to pay the bills.

It wouldn’t be a miserable life. He likes his life. And he could audition next year on his own, if he gathers the courage.

He thinks about all the great songs they’ve composed together, how good their voices complement each other.

They make an odd couple but maybe—just maybe—people will like the novelty of them, will like the improbability of their compatibility, will like them despite of—or because of—what they have together.

“Damn it, Shelton,” he curses but he’s laughing, taking Blake’s hand and dragging him to the door so they can go sign up right away, “Fine, you win. But don’t forget I tried to make you do the right thing.”

“No, you didn’t,” Blake drawls in that obnoxious but endearing way of his. His arm goes around Adam’s hip and his chin dips enough for him to press a kiss to Adam’s head, “That’s the easy way. This is the right way.”

Adam hopes they don’t regret this.

***

He may or may not be having a bit of a panic attack.

He’s never performed in front of so many people, not even in high school, and the possibility of fucking up their one, their _only_ chance at making it into the business is so high, so high there’s just not enough air making it into his lungs and his heart is deafening and unrelenting, jackhammering in his chest and making his knees wobbly.

Blake shushes him gently, mindful of the constricting sensation in his chest when he holds him, and between his soft whispers and the steady rhythm of his breathing right there for Adam to mimic he feels better and strong enough to face the crowd and the coaches.

“The only ones that can screw this up are the coaches if they don’t press their shiny red buttons for us, darlin’,” Blake assures him, his grin bright and honest like he’s about to have the time of his life regardless of the outcome and Adam feels like he’d fall in love with him again, if he weren’t hopelessly smitten already, “Let’s go make sure they do.”

He smirks, a surge of poise and just a bit of cockiness making it into the lines of his mouth, and takes the mike in one hand and Blake’s hand in the other, bouncing the remaining steps to the stage when the staff tells them it’s their turn.

***

They picked a Country song but Adam raised the ante, picking up the rhythm of it and making sure they both had a couple of big notes to hit, trusting in Blake’s delivery to keep it Country enough and in his own ability to infuse something new to it despite of trying to stick to the original as much as he could.

_What we got is_  
_Just like driving on an open highway_  
_Never knowing what we're gonna find_  
_Just like two kids, baby, always trying to live it up_  
_Whoa, yeah, that's our kind of love_

By the time they reach the chorus, the four chairs have turned and the coaches are on their feet, clapping and whooping for them as they keep singing.

Adam makes it without blushing until they’re done and Christina gets into a heated argument with CeeLo while Joel and Kelly snicker and enjoy the fight.

“You guys are a couple, right?” Christina asks. It’s kind of a rhetorical question, really, their song choice self-explanatory enough and the way Blake has an arm around Adam’s shoulders too, “You are so cute, oh my God, can I hug you?”

“Oh no, not until they’ve picked one of us,” Joel says, “Don’t play dirty, Christina. Guys, whether it’s country or pop or both you wanna do, I’m your guy. I’ll get any adviser you want, let you do what you want, I just want to be along for the ride. You’re gonna go far in this.”

“That was good,” CeeLo praises, “But these guys are unique and nobody does unique better than me.”

“That’s right but I really feel like Blake and I have a special understanding already,” Kelly states, stretching her arms towards them, “And Adam, I know pop music very well, we could be a match made in Heaven if you pick me.”

“Don’t break my heart, boys,” Christina adds, clutching her fan in both of her hands, “Please, I know we can win this together.”

“One sec,” Adam says, hands on Blake’s shoulders to turn him until they’re both hidden from their sight by his boyfriend’s back, “What do you think?”

Blake blinks, looks about as stunned as Adam feels, “I think Kelly is the one for us but I’m a bit scared of what Christina can do when we turn her down.”

Adam chuckles. He wants to steal a kiss but refrains from it. “That’s settled then.”

They pick Kelly and Adam doesn’t know how far they’re going to make it but with Blake by his side he knows things are going to be okay no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our Kind of Love (with lyrics): <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i4of8CfScwk>.
> 
> *Joel is the vocalist of Good Charlotte (Joel Madden). He was Shakira's adviser in S4, if I recall correctly. He's also a judge in The Voice Australia but let's ignore that for this AU. Ahem.


	16. deaged!Adam part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: part 2 for where Adam de-aged to a kid? Sometime after Adam gets back to normal and he remembers everything I guess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows up from Chapter 7.

Adam groans and tosses his iPhone to the empty side of the bed, burying his head in the pillow and feeling more than a bit sorry for himself.

After spending the last week scampering around as a kid, alternatively giggling or sobbing about anything and everything depending on how bad of a job his friends were doing at babysitting him—literally—he doesn’t feel particularly excited about going back to set.

There’s always the cowardly option of pretending he doesn’t remember a thing, of course, but that’s never been his style and anyway, it’s not like it was his fault, was it? So what if he was a bit of a handful? They could’ve called his parents or something but Blake decided to take care of him until he was back to normal and James had been all too happy to oblige after failing the crash course of parenting 101 with his best friend.

Blake, on the other hand, turned out to be really—shockingly—amazing with children. Adam doesn’t hold many memories of being so little but somehow he suspects he didn’t have that much fun the first time around.

It doesn’t stop the whole thing from being fucking embarrassing though and now that he’s back to his old self he knows Blake is going to have a field day with him.

He heaves a long-suffering sigh and gets ready for the day.

***

“There’s my favorite little buddy!” Blake booms as soon as he sees him. Adam makes a face which only seems to encourage his giant friend further, “All grown-up already! Ah, don’t kids grow up in the blink of an eye these days.”  
Adam rolls his eyes. “I’m going to do you a favor, Shelton,” he says, matter-of-fact, “I’m going to wipe that awful joke from my mind and give you a fresh start.”

Blake raises his eyebrows at him, expectant.

Adam recognizes that look from the previous days. It means Blake is expecting Adam to run into his arms and say hello.

If he were still two years old, that would also mean he gets a free ride to Blake’s kitchen and to sit on the counter, wriggling his legs happily while the Country singer fixed him some breakfast—mostly milk, with a bit of Froot Loops that Blake always made sure he chewed and swallowed properly, making all kind of exaggerated, funny faces to show him how.

Then he’d help him clean his teeth and fuck, Adam really needs to snap out of it.

He huffs and walks the rest of the way to Blake’s chair, hurling himself to the older man’s arms not unlike all the previous times he’s done it, hugging his shoulders tightly for a moment.

“Hello,” he greets, “There, happy now?”  
“Really, Adam, not even a kiss?” Blake frowns but he holds Adam’s waist firmly all the same, “You were so much nicer as a little kid. I miss you a lot.”  
“I’m _right here_ ,” _asshole_ , “Now let me go, we have shit to do.”

Blake sighs and does let him go but not before planting a wet, loud kiss on the side of his neck.

Adam squirms and turns around so Blake can’t see the huge grin that he can’t keep from appearing on his face.

***

Blake is surprisingly nice for like half the day until they have a break and Shakira asks him if he misses his ‘little shadow’—although what she says in Spanish is _diablillo_ and Adam might not be fluent in the language but he knows that doesn’t mean the same, goddamn it—with an eager-for-gossip Usher impatiently waiting by her side for an answer.

“Hmm,” Blake hums, mock-considering the question. Adam rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Nobody is paying attention to him even though he’s perched on the arm of Blake’s chair, “A little, yeah. I bet Adam misses wearing diapers but I sure as Hell don’t miss wiping that little butt five times a day.”  
“I’m _right here_ , asshole,” he does say this time, blushing a vibrant shade of pink and swatting Blake on the back of the head for good measure, “And no, you know, I don’t miss that because I like my independence a little too much, thank you, but being a kid _sucks_.”  
“Aww,” Blake pouts, his twang in full force as he grouses, “Was it that bad? And here I was thinking I’d made it so much easier for you, buddy.”  
“The only thing you made easier is making fun of me now that you have more material for it,” Adam says, turning his head to the side so he doesn’t have to watch Blake’s stupid sullen face, “You just _had_ to jump to the grisly details, didn’t you, dickhead?”  
Blake shrugs, unrepentant. “You were so much cuter as a kid, too, y’know.”

Adam stands up and flips him off, feelingly, with both hands.

“Someone is a little grumpy today,” he hears Usher remark at his back.  
“Must be the lack of petting,” Shakira adds, giggling.

***

As soon as tapping is over, Adam strolls out of the studio and lights a cigarette.

He takes a deep drag, eyes closed as he enjoys the soothing effect of it on his nerves, and wishes it weren’t Monday night so he could get drunk with the guys and forget about being mollycoddled by a certain cowboy that keeps telling him he liked him better as a kid while expecting Adam to react well to the abrupt change between a caring and kind figure and his ever teasing, sometimes borderline offensive hick of a friend that he has at thirty five.

“See, that’s another thing you didn’t do that I was glad about,” Blake’s drawl announces beside him.  
Adam takes dark pleasure in blowing the smoke right on Blake’s face. “Oh, give me a break. I’ve heard of people smoking like at nine years old but not two, don’t be ridiculous.”  
“Nine years old!?” Blake yells, appalled,  “What kinda friends do you have, Adam?”  
“You tell me, Shelton, you tell me.”

***

Blake gets tired of the poop jokes and of bringing up his diminished self after a couple of weeks.

Adam waits a couple more just to watch the man fidget and stare at him when he thinks Adam isn’t looking.

“You did,” he says out of the blue one night at his patio. Charlie, the little traitor, comfily sleeping on Blake’s feet as they share a beer after a long show.  
“What?” Blake asks, confused.  
“Make it easier for me,” Adam finishes with a smile.

His plan was to tell Blake he’s going to be an awesome dad whenever he chooses to be but this is close enough.

Blake’s whole face lights up, those stupid dimples of his firm on each side of his mouth.

Adam kisses him on the forehead and goes inside for a snack.


	17. turning the mike off take 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: can you expand [that drabble on Blake and Carson cutting Adam's mic off] or add another chapter where Adam still feels insecure about talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This continues from Chapter 5.

He’s not sure how he didn’t notice before, but it’s easy for him now, easy to know exactly when people are listening to him—really listening—and when they’re not.

When his voice becomes background noise even for his friends, that’s when Adam can’t take it. The rest of the world doesn’t matter. He knows most people can’t stand him anyway so he doesn’t resent the fact they don’t want to hear what he has to say.

He thinks that maybe his so-called arrogance sheltered him from realizing it sooner, how his friends grow tired of him after a while of Adam being too much, after he’s bounced around for too long and has forgotten to take things seriously too many times in a row.

He shuts up quite fast now, whenever it happens. Whenever their gazes turn distant, whenever they nod too readily at what he’s said.

It’s hard but eventually he’s convinced he’s not half as funny and interesting as he’s always thought he was.

***

Blake is the only one who seems bothered at all by his new attitude.

They’re at a party at Gwen’s place and Adam is curled up in the corner of a loveseat. He’s grabbing one of his feet, twisting it as far as it goes past his buttocks and towards his back, and thinking it’s a good time as any to head home and get some rest.

They don’t hug so much, not as much as they used to, so Adam jerks in surprise when the taller man flops down on the couch next to him and wraps his arms around his waist.

Blake manhandles Adam to his lap and chuckles while he struggles to straighten a little.

“What the fuck, man?” he complains, talking directly to Blake’s ear to be heard above the music, “You want me to kick you in the nuts? Because that almost happens.”  
Blake grimaces, tipping his head to speak in his ear too. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who’s so bored he’s doing yoga in the middle of a party, you idiot.”

Adam purses his lips, frowning, and wriggles a little to get more comfortable in Blake’s lap. The country singer tightens his grip on him, as if preventing him from going away, and Adam sighs.

He should’ve gone home an hour ago.

“I was just stretching,” Adam corrects him, snooty, “It’s not the same.”  
Blake huffs. “Whatever you say,” he nuzzles his shoulder until Adam shivers and groans, unsuccessfully trying to push him away only for Blake to hold him closer, “I’m worried ‘bout you, buddy, you’re not the same lately. Let’s get out of here so you can tell me what’s going on.”

Adam blinks, stilling. That didn’t sound like a question but Blake’s arms around him loosen and when he looks back and up at him, he’s smiling softly, his big blue eyes almost pleading.

Adam knows practically all the tells, all the signs someone who isn’t listening shows when they’re pretending they are, and he hasn’t seen them on Blake, not so far.

It’s more than a little scary. He doesn’t want to find out Blake can get bored of him too but he doesn’t want to push him away when he looks so worried and honest, when he’s done nothing wrong to make Adam think he doesn’t want him around, not really.

“Okay,” he agrees at length, ducking his head and stretching forward to look for his shoes, “Just let me—“

Blake keeps holding him while he puts on his boots.

Once he’s done, the country star simply turns him around and stands up with him still in his arms.

Adam lets out an indignant noise and squirms. Around them, people laugh and part to let them through.

“You giant asshole,” Adam grouses, “Put me down, I can fucking walk!”  
“’Course you can,” Blake concedes, using his forearms to lock Adam’s legs around his middle, “Don’t mean I’m going to let you, though, so just enjoy the free ride.”  
Adam deflates. “Fuck you,” he mumbles, gripping Blake’s shoulders with both hands and bowing his head after he almost hits a chandelier on their way out.

Carson pats Blake on the shoulder when they’re about to reach the door.

“Good idea,” their friend says with a smirk, “Take him home before he embarrasses himself.”

Adam flips him off, feelingly.

When Blake finally lets him go to drive his truck, Adam feels suddenly—and unbearably—cold.

***

It’s almost four in the morning.

Blake doesn’t give a rat’s ass about it, obviously, because he meanders to the kitchen and comes back with two steaming mugs of coffee.

Adam is not even tipsy, but he sips the coffee anyway, letting it burn his throat and give the silence around them an excuse now that they’re alone and Adam is supposed to begin explaining his—his issue or whatever.

Blake leaves his mug on the coffee table, sits on the sofa next to him and scoops Adam up once he’s drunk enough not to spill anything with the movement.

Adam goes without complaints this time, snuggling against him and closing his eyes tight against the sudden pang of longing that assaults him.

He’s missed having Blake close so much that getting him back, even just for a little while, feels so good that it borders on too much.

He’s always thought that it should bother him, being in such a vulnerable position and feeling so incredibly small in Blake’s arms but it never really has. Sure, he gets embarrassed when they’re in public, but like this it feels right and comforting.

He puts the half-empty mug down and sticks his nose back against Blake’s neck.

“You’re gonna tell me what’s going on in that little head of yours?” Blake asks him softly, “Or am I gonna have to squeeze it outta you?”  
“Hey! No squeezing,” Adam cries, pushing against Blake’s tightening hold of him.  
“Well then, I’m listening.”

Adam blurts it out like taking off a band aid, quickly so the pain is gone and over with soon too.

“It just sucks, you know. Being so annoying no one can put up with me for too long.”  
“C’mon on now, Adam,” Blake replies, sounding confused, “You’re not annoying. What are you even talking about? Everyone loves you!”

Adam snorts in disbelief, breaking apart so he can look Blake in the eye.

“Oh, really? Is that why you wanted to turn off my mic?”  
“You know I like messing with you! It was just a joke.”  
“Right.”

Blake cups his face gently with both hands. Adam has never seen him looking so contrite before and he feels bad for being so fucking overdramatic but Blake shakes his head, using his thumb to hush him when he tries to apologize.

“Adam, the minute it stops being funny to you, it stops being funny to me too, alright? If you feel that I’m being a jerk, knock me in the head, stop me, but please don’t keep quiet about it. I don’t wanna hurt you, I’ve never meant to. I’m sorry.”

There’s nothing really that Adam can say to that—especially with Blake’s hands still on his face—so he just smiles gratefully, and sighs, feeling like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.


	18. enough for you (jealousy is a disease)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Adam and Blake have a fight and break up before the ACMs where Blake and Luke are hosting and Blake ends up sleeping with Luke and ends up regretting it. Adam realizes he loves Blake and wants to get back with him but he finds out Blake slept with someone else and is hurt but in the end realizing he can't be without Blake, forgives him and they get back together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually try to be as faithful to the prompt as I can but for the life of me I couldn't make this one sound right until I did my own take on it. I'm really sorry. Hopefully it's still enough for you to enjoy, anon.

When Behati leaves, something breaks in Adam.

He’d always been a confident man; _over_ confident if you asked most people, actually, but Adam never defined himself using any words that didn’t come from his own mouth.

All it takes to change that is his wife packing a bag and leaving—leaving _him_.

When Behati leaves, Adam learns happiness doesn’t mean _shit_.

Things could still go to Hell at a moment’s notice and there would be nothing he could do to stop it.

When Behati leaves—when she—when she _leaves him_ —that’s it.

He’s never the same again.

***

It starts the wrong way, with Blake.

They’re both angry and miserable and probably feeling worse things as well. Adam has never been good at introspection so fuck if he knows what else they have inside their cracked hearts the first time they fuck.

But it’s good. It’s more than good; it’s amazing. And it helps. Oddly enough, instead of ruining one of the few close relationships Adam has managed to keep while being the train wreck he’s been for the last couple of months, it brings them closer together and Blake keeps coming back to him.

Sometimes they don’t even have sex and he still seems—he _seems_ —happy. Happy with how things are between them, happy with—happy with Adam.

It confuses him, that.

He doesn’t have anything else to offer, after all, apart from his own body and the way he knows how to play and tune others like a fine instrument. He’s good at sex and nothing else.

Why would Blake stick around if he didn’t want that?

Adam clenches his jaw and tries to ignore the howling, crippling doubt inside of him but it’s impossible.

***

He lashes out every time Blake as much as touches somebody else with the tip of his fingers.

Being the charming and handsy Country son of a bitch that he is, Blake is never really conscious of how many people he hugs or kisses or is overly affectionate with for no reason and he’s never apologetic about it either. Never.

Even random reporters get more attention from him than Adam does in public these days because of course they can’t come out. The world isn’t a fairy tale; that’s stuff for songs, at best.

“Don’t ask me to change who I am,” Blake says each time Adam acts like nothing but a cruel, jealous lover, “You want to be with me, you get the whole package or nothing at all. Your pick.”

“I’m not fucking asking you to, you stupid asshole!” Adam retorts also each time, although the insults depend on how upset he is that particular day, “If I did what you do, you’d be mad too!”

“But you don’t,” Blake points out, shrugging, time and time again, “Which is good. God knows there’s only room for one paranoid jackass in the relationship.”

Adam wishes he had the emotional equipment to voice every reason he has to feel like Blake could replace him any second but he doesn’t. He can’t even explain it to himself. He’s just fucking dumb.

So he scowls and stews every time, a part of him already hearing the ticking of the countdown to the end of something too great for Adam to keep.

“Ha-fucking-ha.”

***

The breaking point comes soon enough.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Blake practically _sobs_. Adam is that much of a fuck-up; he’s made a six feet five man _cry_ , “If you really can’t trust me, Adam, we’re done. We’re over.”

Instead of screaming in blind panic like he wants to, instead of reaching out to soothe and ask for forgiveness like he fucking should, Adam sneers.

“You slept with him, Shelton. Since you’re breaking up with me, the least you can do is being fucking honest with me and admit it!”

But Blake doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t; he can’t admit something he didn’t do, something that is only in Adam’s twisted thoughts.

The Country singer shakes his head and rubs his right cheek harshly with the back of his hand.

He looks tired instead of sad, Adam thinks nonsensically.

He doesn’t look at all like the day he knocked on Adam’s door and told him Miranda had left too, told him the one thing that made sense in his world was Adam before kissing him as if he’d fall to pieces the second he stopped.

He can still feel Blake’s fingers from that first time—shaking but oh so eager, so hopeful; tipping his chin up, brushing his neck and his cheeks, gripping his shoulders and the small of his back tight when Adam kissed back in amazement as if Blake wasn’t up to grant him the option of changing his mind.

“The only reason I was in California was for you,” Blake reminds him quietly, his back to him as his hand hesitates on the knob of Adam’s front door, “So I’m leaving. You know where to find me, if…”

The way he trails off makes Adam’s eyes sting. But he doesn’t try to stop Blake; he simply stands and watches him leave.

Even hours after he’s gone, his silhouette by the door is everything Adam can see.

***

He cries.

It takes a while but the tears come unbidden just as he’s about to have dinner with his buds and Matt asks him how Blake is doing because Adam is stupid and didn’t tell them they’re not together anymore, because Adam is stupid and _lost_ him; because Blake is probably better off without him but Adam can’t breathe in his own freaking house without missing him, without feeling his absence like someone reached into his chest and plucked his heart to leave a gaping hole to beat in its place.

He cries and calls Blake but he’s smart enough not to pick up so Adam just cries harder and hates himself a little more and ignores the world as he huddles in a corner of his living room, the one corner of his place he can be in without having an even bigger break down because Blake isn’t there but he _is_ ; he is everywhere, he hasn’t left Adam’s heart so his ghost is everywhere and the memories and the nostalgia are too much for Adam to bear.

It’s only then that it really dawns on him; Blake isn’t coming back, not unless Adam fixes at least _some_ of the shit that’s wrong with him.

***

It’s probably too late to realize how much Blake loves— _loved_?—him. He was able to put up with so much for so little—for _him_ , for the sake of being with Adam—and Adam should’ve seen it sooner but he was too busy hurting and couldn’t; he was hurting so much that almost all he could do was hurting everyone around him.

But it’s been over a month and Blake’s ghost isn’t going anywhere.

It’s in Adam’s bed and behind the curtains, battling sunlight to cast light to Adam’s miserable life; it's in the kitchen and in his favorite car, riding shotgun and laughing that familiar laugh at the jokes Adam can’t make anymore. It’s in the aftertaste of the toothpaste and in the drags of every cigarette he lights. It’s in the kisses he wakes up feeling but can’t remember getting, in the sky when Adam dares to look up and sees Blake’s twinkling blue eyes winking at him. It’s in the radio, singing songs of love and heartache with a voice than can tell stories like few others can.

It’s April and Blake is busy but Adam can start making amends already.

He drives all the way to Las Vegas with his heart in his throat and fear buzzing in his ears.

***

Finding Blake’s room in the hotel is easy enough—flashing a smile, giving a couple of autographs—but as he stands outside the door with a sweaty and disheveled Luke Bryan wearing a pair of half-buttoned jeans, he wonders if he got it wrong.

For a moment, he indulges himself and thinks that he did.

“Hey, man,” Adam says, stunned, “Sorry, I thought this was Blake’s—“

“He’s in the shower,” Luke offers, awkward, scratching his head with a clumsy hand, “He’ll be out in a minute if you want to—“

But Adam doesn’t want to wait; what he wants is to throw up.

Even from where he’s standing he can see the unmade bed and the clothes scattered around the room.

It’s ironic, that the one thing he accused Blake of—the same thing that was the last straw for Blake—is suddenly and awfully true now.

Adam can’t help but thinking he deserves the pain that shots through him in that moment.

Blake is a free, single man now. Adam let him go.

And Blake moved on.

“No, no, I—“ Adam stutters, throat almost shut off, “I’ll leave. Sorry.”

He sits in his car, curling over the steering wheel, and bawls his eyes out.

He’d step on the gas and drive back to California right this second if the tears weren’t blinding him, if he could stop trembling enough to put the keys in the ignition.

It’s ironic too; how he’d take Blake back in a heartbeat now that Blake doesn’t want him anymore.

***

Blake looks at his reflection in the mirror, pretty aware he’s stalling and feeling like a jerk because of it.

He winces, mulling over words he can use to explain to Luke that this can’t happen again.

They were both too tipsy and too lonely last night. Having sex with each other wouldn’t have seemed like a good idea otherwise but Blake can’t exactly put it like that, can he? Not if he wants to keep Luke’s friendship.

When he’s finally out of the bathroom, he has to go collect Luke from his own room to talk to him.

“About last night,” he starts, tense.

Luke makes a face at him. “Don’t even,” he stops him, “It was a good mistake, as far as mistakes go, if you know what I mean but _man_ , I like women too much. Sorry.”

Blake laughs. “Good to know, pal,” he says, grinning, “So we’re good?”

“We’re good,” Luke nods, smiling back for a minute and then frowning, “Well, that is if you think your buddy from The Voice can keep the secret.”

Blake blinks, bemused. “What?”

“Adam Levine? He saw me, dude,” Luke elaborates, gesturing with his hands as Blake sits his ass down on the first surface he finds before he keels over, “In your room, you know, _after_. From the look on his face, I’d say he figured out what happened. He won’t tell anybody, right? You trust him?”

“How long?” Blake croaks, “How long ago was that?”

“Couple of hours. You think he will—“

“I’m leaving,” Blake announces, “I’ll take the next plane to L.A.”

Luke trails after him and keeps asking questions as Blake packs his bag and practically runs through the door.

Blake just tells him that no, Adam won’t tell, and that no, he won’t be available for the next few days.

He curses himself for not thinking this could happen and prays there’s something he can do to make Adam understand this meant nothing and won’t happen again.

***

Adam never asked him for his keys back so Blake opens the gate to his house and then the front door without chiming.

Charlie whines at him as soon as he’s inside, rubbing her muzzle against his leg.

She rushes up the stairs and Blake follows, knowing she’ll lead him to wherever Adam is.

He had little over an hour to think about what to say to Adam but he’s got nothing.

If Adam doesn’t trust him on this, then the trip and his presence here are all for nothing and there’s no saving their relationship.

The stereo in Adam’s room is on with Nirvana—yes, he can recognize the band after years of hanging out with Adam—loud enough to make his eardrums ache.

The instant he reaches and turns it off, he hears Adam’s sobs; heart-wrenching even in their softness.

He sounds like he’s been crying for hours and looks like it too; his shoulders barely moving as he weakly presses his face to his knees, his hands hanging on his sides, palms up and fingers curled like he’s been clutching something too hard and lost it anyway.

Blake kneels in front of him, takes his hands in his and squeezes.

Adam breathes in harshly as if waking from a bad dream and his eyes shut tight at the sight of him.

What he says next leaves Blake breathless.

“Please,” Adam whispers raspingly, “Please don’t say it; I know, I saw him, I—I hope that he makes you happy. You—you deserve it.”

“Adam—“ he tries, “Luke and I, we—“

Adam laughs. It’s the saddest thing Blake’s ever heard, filled with pain and bitterness but there’s no cutting edge to it.

He can only see quiet acceptance in Adam this time, this time when jealousy would be justified for once, and it breaks Blake’s heart.

He understands what all the suspicion and nastiness has always been about now.

“I’m just really sad, y’know,” Adam says around a sigh that’s half sob, a single tear streaming down his cheek, “I wish it could be me but I—I can’t make anyone happy.”

Blake doesn’t know what to say. He should’ve been more supportive, more loving; he should’ve realized Adam wasn’t insulting him when he accused him of cheating over and over and demanded him to stop being so friendly with everyone he knows and meets.

He should’ve reassured Adam each time instead of getting mad and trying to joke his way out of the situation.

“Can we—can we still be friends?” Adam asks him, subdued, looking up at him with shy and red eyes.

That’s when Blake crumbles.

He kisses Adam on each side of his eyes and scoops him up to his lap. He kisses his brow right where it furrows when Adam frowns at him in confusion; kisses his nose where it’s redder because of the crying; kisses Adam’s lips where they’re barely parted in half question and half wonder.

“We can be more if you’d still have me, Adam,” Blake assures him.

Adam gasps. “But Luke—“

“It was a mistake,” Blake clears up, “We talked it out. We’re friends, that’s it.”

“But—“

“ _Adam_. You’ve had sex with friends and then regretted it, right? This was no different.”

It takes a moment but Adam relaxes in his arms. He kisses Blake’s neck and his lashes tickle his skin as he sags against the Country star, turning and wriggling until he’s comfortable with one arm around his back and the other holding his right hand tight with no intentions of letting go.

Blake has no problems with that. It's what he wanted all along.

“Blake, I—I’ve been an asshole to you,” Adam whispers, rueful, “I’m sorry.”

Blake shakes his head slightly and kisses Adam’s temple.

“We’ve both made mistakes but we’ll work on this,” he amends, “Together.”


	19. zombie apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Shevine, zombie apocalypse ~~(maybe walking dead crossover)~~ and a lot of pain?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Major character death**. No, I'm not kidding.
> 
> Spoilery warnings at the end.

Adam is in the right place at the right time when it happens but most people aren’t and watching it in the news is tear-jerking and terrifying.

He locks himself up in his house and sees how Ebola turns into something horrific and one hundred times worse than dying of it because people are waking up from the grave hungry for things that they never wanted before and without any memory or common sense that would prevent them for getting what they crave.

It’s a short while until everything stops working then; electricity, phone lines, cellphones, internet. You name it, it doesn't work anymore.

Before they’re back to the Stone Age, Adam watches the chaos erupt in Paris and Behati calls him to say goodbye.

 _I got it, baby, I’m sorry_ , she says, her voice wrecked because she’s young and beautiful and shouldn’t be dying so soon and away from him, _I love you. Please be safe. Get away from the big cities. Hide. Live, for me, please._

Adam doesn’t know if the shot he hears then is his wife killing herself or someone else taking her out of her misery. He’s too busy screaming to figure that out.

She didn’t make him promise, didn’t wait for Adam to say that he would endure the apocalypse without her for as long as he could if that’s what she wanted, but Adam sets his jaw and nods to himself.

He touches his ring absently and packs a small bag. He fills the rest of the space in the trunk with water and food because he’s not enough of a fool to think those won’t run out too sooner or later.

Bones and Charlie look up at him. Adam knows a smart person wouldn’t take them too but he can’t bear the thought of leaving them to fetch for themselves.

***

He tries visiting his friends to take them with him if they’re still okay, if they’re still _people_ and not—not the other things that are crawling and prowling L.A. now but it’s too late.

He only finds carnage and the stench of fresh, of _warm_ blood and entrails makes him sick.

He thinks he catches sight of Jesse between them but he’s never sure about that.

In his nightmares, his friends and wife tear him to shreds and eat him alive.

***

He doesn’t get very far on his own.

He’s stupid and feels like a failure because he forgot to stock up gasoline and now he’s paying for it; stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere.

It’s still better than what he left behind.

On the road, he’s alone.

***

He’s watering the dogs and petting them when he hears a truck parking nearby.

He stills where he’s crouching. The telltale cocking of a gun has him swallowing hard and he closes his eyes, clutching to Bones and Charlie in the hopes that it will be fast and painless. He makes a pathetic, high-pitched sound in the back of his throat—he _whines_ , okay?—and waits but the bang doesn’t come.

“Adam?” a familiar voice calls instead, shaken, and Adam turns around to find Blake gaping at him.

Adam has never been happier to see anyone in his life. Judging by the way Blake holds him tight and burrows into his shoulder, he knows the sentiment is shared. He laughs a little under his breath and holds him just as tight, shivering with relief.

They both have tears in their eyes when they part but for once they don’t joke about it. They can’t, not anymore.

Blake has enough gas to take them almost anywhere they want to go and a collection of weapons that includes shotguns and hunting knives that Adam wants to think they won’t need but knows that they will.

They cram everything in Adam’s trunk and he drives while Blake sharpens the blades he’s carrying in thigh holsters and checks the ammo in the two guns he keeps on himself at all times almost to the point of obsession.

***

“She came home late one night,” Blake tells him when they’re somewhere between Arizona and Utah, “Didn’t talk to me at all, just kept eating raw meat.”

The highways are desolated enough that Adam can risk looking at him.

Blake is looking straight ahead. There’s no regret in his voice, only heartache.

His profile is sharp and well-kept, the stubble in his jaw as clean and trimmed as it can be living in a car.

He doesn’t look like a killer.

He looks like a warrior; strong and noble in the direst of circumstances.

“She was the first one I killed,” Blake confesses, quiet and even, “She was already dead.”

Adam reaches to him, takes Blake’s hand to his lips to plant a kiss on his wedding ring.

“You saved her,” he assures Blake. His voice cracks a bit at the end and he has to take a deep breath to go on, “You didn’t let her turn into a monster. She would’ve been proud of you.”

Blake entwines their fingers, his gaze still dead ahead, and blinks until the moisture in his eyes disappears.

“Yeah,” he says and doesn’t cry.

***

Blake is better at comforting, he’s always been, and when Adam finally tells him about Behati he makes him stop the engine and holds him close while Adam cries his eyes out.

Adam wants to ask him where he gets all this strength he’s showing but he remembers how bloodshot and sore Blake’s eyes were when they first came across each other and doesn’t.

He wants to believe he’s the reason Blake chooses to be strong now.

***

They decide to stay in Wyoming after driving miles and miles without bumping into anything.

They settle in an abandoned farm beside a forest where they won’t run out of food and water in the near future.

Blake takes everything that’s stained with blood or seems unsafe outside and burns it.

Adam cleans until the smell of bleach makes him dizzy.

***

They try to sleep in separate rooms at first but after weeks of dozing off next to each other in a car the isolation feels oppressive and crushing.

Neither of them can sleep until Adam sneaks under the covers of Blake’s bed.

Blake’s arms are open and waiting when he does.

***

Blake teaches Adam how to chop wood, how to fire a gun and keep it clean and loaded. He gives up trying to get Adam to hold a knife steady and right but he doesn’t seem overly disappointed in that.

“It’s better if you don’t come any near them,” Blake remarks at his lack of skill with things with pointy ends and sharp edges, “Shoot from a distance, shoot right between the eyes and you’ll be okay.”

After the first couple of weeks, he trains Adam’s dogs to hunt for them instead of going out for hours at a time.

They only eat once a day and save as much as they can, salting meat and keeping vegetables in vinegar so they won’t rot too soon.

There are two guitars in one of the rooms but they don’t touch them.

Music takes them back to better times, opens wounds that still haven’t healed and seems a mockery to the horrible reality they’re forced to exist in.

Adam wants to believe they will play again sometime but not even his hopeful thoughts can give him an estimate of when, if ever.

***

It’s probably desperation what makes him do it but it’s more than that too—years of lingering gazes and jokes that hit too close to home, years of caring too much for his most obnoxious and contrary friend.

When he wakes up in the middle of the night to Blake humping his thigh and grunting lowly in his sleep, Adam doesn’t even hesitate.

He reaches between them and palms him firmly, digging the heel of his hand right where Blake needs it the most and closing his fingers around him through his clothes.

Blake wakes up, hips moving roughly and practically abusing the friction Adam is providing, and doesn’t stop him.

He kisses Adam as if he’s been starving for it and his tongue seems so profoundly familiar with every spot of Adam’s mouth that makes him pant and shiver with want that he almost wonders if they’ve done this before. It feels like they have.

Blake’s lips are spectacularly good at kissing, just as the man infuriatingly is in most of what he does, and Adam melts against him, stuttering a lazy rhythm against Blake’s stomach.

For a long moment, Adam is convinced they’re going to get off just like this—like teenagers who don’t know any better, that are too into it to stop for one second to get more skin against each other.

Then Blake takes them both out of their pants and squeezes them together in his big hand. It’s a little too dry so Adam licks his hand and joins him quickly. Blake kisses the moans straight out of his throat in appreciation.

Things get too hot and hazy to think after that.

***

He says yes to most of the things Blake asks of him in bed. Most of the time Blake doesn’t ask with words and Adam’s reply is just as tacit.

They learn to read each other’s bodies better than any score but don’t talk about it.

It’s something they need and Adam doesn’t lie so much to himself to think there’s any more to it than that; they’re men, they’re lonely, there’s no one else around—it’s natural, in a way.

But then they stop having sex in the dark and start having it during the day—in the couch or the kitchen or even outside in the hammock, anywhere Blake can kiss Adam until he spreads his legs and climbs to his lap—with enough kisses and soft touches to feel like they’re maybe making love even if none of them can admit it.

***

“Promise me,” Blake says one day, voice firm and demanding, “Promise me you’ll do it for me, if I catch it before you.”

Adam stiffens, his heart in his throat and Blake’s arms almost smothering around his middle.

He knows that Blake is asking if Adam loves him as much as he loved Miranda, if Adam loves him enough to break his own heart into a million pieces and pull the trigger in Blake’s face when shit hits the fan.

Adam wants to tell him that he won’t; that he’s too much of a chicken, that he’s not altruistic enough to love someone that way, that he’s not strong enough.

He kisses his lover until his lips sting as much as his eyes instead.

“I promise,” he whispers, “I’ll do it for you.” _I love you_.

Blake smiles then and Adam doesn’t have it in him to confess what else he’s going to do if that happens, if he has to kill Blake because he lost him to the plague.

***

Blake is skinning a hare for dinner when he cuts himself and curses loud enough for Adam to hear him from inside the house.

They stand still and look at each other, an ominous feeling hanging in the air at the smell of blood.

Adam tries to help but Blake growls and disinfects and bandages on his own, a scowl never truly leaving his face.

Adam hides his worry behind his hands and stays out of the way.

He tries not to panic. It doesn’t really work.

He doesn’t want to fulfill his promise.

He doesn’t want Blake to die.

He doesn’t want to be left alone.

***

“It’s not safe, damn it, Adam!” Blake barks at him, cradling his hand to his chest as if he could bodily shield Adam from the threat his wound represents, “I could be sick!”

“But you’re not!” Adam insists even though they both know all it takes it’s a little blood for the virus to claim them, that it doesn’t matter there’s no one in miles and miles around, that the disease is everywhere and there’s nothing they can do to stop it, “You’re okay and I wanna be with you! If we die tomorrow, so be it!”

“Adam…” Blake croaks. He sounds surprised, Adam thinks, and it’s only then he remembers they’re not supposed to do this—talk about their feelings because they have no right to be happy after so many people they loved died in tragedy, “I—“

“Forget it,” he cuts in, blushing with more rage than embarrassment, “Good night, Blake.”

He goes to lie down in his old room.

He doesn’t even try to sleep so he’s wide awake when the mattress dips with Blake’s weight and warm arms close around his waist.

Blake kisses his nape and Adam takes it for the apology it is.

***

In the morning, Blake’s skin is hot enough to burn.

He doesn’t try to get Adam away from him this time, not even when he starts bleeding through his nose and gums so they’re sure that he’s sick now, that he’s got _it_ —that he’s _dying_.

“You’re gonna die alone,” he says and hugs Adam even tighter than that first time on the road.

He sounds sorry and guilty.

Adam kisses his damp neck and tries not to cry, not yet.

He wants to be strong now, strong for both of them, and bring nothing but comfort to Blake’s last hours.

“Yeah,” it’s all he says.

***

Blake still has a bit of color in his skin when Bones and Charlie start growling at him. His eyes are more grey than blue. Adam knows the time has come.

He’s still late, finds Blake in the barn with his jaw dripping with blood and dirty feathers sticking to it. What’s left of one of the few hens they still had lays at his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he says, choking on the breath he takes as his finger takes the safety off.

Blake—what’s left of him, which isn’t much, but is still enough for him not to show his teeth at Adam and try to have him as dessert—doesn’t even move; he stays put for Adam to get a clean shot and drops to the ground with a loud, heavy sound afterward.

“Right between the eyes,” Adam mumbles to no one and kneels besides Blake’s body until it stinks.

***

He learns there’s really no end for the tears when you have enough reason to cry.

***

Neither of them made Adam promise he’d live, not really, or so Adam wants to believe when days go by and the pain is still as crippling and deep as the first day and he can’t take it anymore.

He doesn’t think about Behati or Blake as he bites around the barrel of the gun and if he does it’s only for one brief moment.

He thinks they’d forgive him for taking the easy way out.

Chances are that he’s sick anyway and there will be no one to do this for him in time, if he keeps waiting to be sure he is.

Killing himself is the one thing that doesn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide and murder.


	20. height difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: ADAM AND BLAKE HEIGHT DIFFERENCE. LIKE BLAKE LOVES HOW SHORT AND COMPACT ADAM IS AND HE LOVES MANHANDLING HIM AND CARRYING HIM TO PLACES AND ADAM CANT DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might give you a little bit of diabetes. Just saying.

When they started dating, Adam expected Blake to be handsy because let’s face it; the man wouldn’t keep his hands to himself even if his life depended on it.

He was fully prepared for the grabby hands and for the inappropriate comments here and there ( _Guess who I had naked today in my bed y’all!_ ) about their newly changed relationship and had some snarky remarks to get back at Blake with each time he ran his mouth too much.

There wasn’t much to do about his hands, though, and to be honest Adam didn’t even mind it that much. He liked the attention. He especially loved the way Blake’s eyes lit up whenever he touched Adam.

That was, until Blake discovered he very much liked having Adam in his arms—constantly and regardless of whoever was around with them.

***

“You’re so little,” Blake cooed at him in the studio as soon as Adam walked into it, “Yes you are!”

Adam groaned and snuck out of his reach. “Don’t baby-talk me, you dickhead. We’re fucking! It’s gross.”

Blake batted mock-innocent eyes at him. “We’re not fucking _now_ , Adam, get your mind out of the freaking gutter! _That_ ’s gross.”

Adam scoffed, flipping a couple of camera men off because they were laughing way too hard at this. “ _You_ ’re gross.”

Blake smirked at him. “That’s not what you said last night.”

Adam held his hands up in the air and took refuge in Christina’s trailer before Blake could even think about picking him up and carry him to his chair which he had done every day of tapping so far this season.

***

“The coast is clear,” Christina assured him, “I’d suggest you to make a run for it now, Adam. He might come back soon. He’s so quick for such a big guy.”

Adam huffed and reluctantly stepped out of the trailer. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

He didn’t run because he had more pride than that but maybe he should have.

Blake grabbed him half-way down the hall and effortlessly took him into his arms.

Adam had a snide line in the tip of his tongue that died as soon as Blake eskimo-kissed him and gazed at him as if Adam were the sweetest, prettiest thing in the whole universe.

It was too good of a feeling to complain about. He gaped a little and looked up at the Country star in wonder.

Adam loved himself a _lot_ but even he knew he wasn’t _that_ captivating.

“Dang it, Adam, you’re driving me crazy here,” his boyfriend drawled, oblivious to Adam’s thoughts, “Look how well you fit in my arms. I could have you right here all the time.”

“Well, what do you want me to do, moron? I can’t get any taller, you know,” Adam groused, ducking his head so Blake wouldn’t see his cheeks getting pink not exactly in annoyance, “And if you want me to get fat, I will dump you.”

“You’re one mean fucker, Adam,” Blake chuckled, “You’re lucky I like you so damn much.”

“I’m not all that lucky,” Adam teased him, “At least not when I want to—oh, I don’t know— _walk_ to places.”

Blake deposited him in his make-up chair with a flourish and flopped down in his own beside him with a sunny grin that Adam tried to take down by sheer force of glaring and cursing.

He so knew Blake was going to carry him to his chair too unless he somehow managed to convince him not to.

The staff laughed at their antics and kept working.

***

In the middle of an audition, he climbed to the back of his chair and almost squeaked when he felt too big hands around his waist.

Two strong arms put him on the ground again soon enough and didn’t let go of him.

“Don’t do that, you could hurt yourself!” Blake hissed. They both had pressed their buttons already and Pharrell was making the most of their distraction by sweet-talking the guy on stage to death, “It makes me nervous, y’know, I can’t focus if you’re over there.”

“Let _go_!” Adam protested, loud enough to interrupt Pharrell’s speech making both the singer and Christina giggle, “I’m down, I’m not going up again so stop groping me, damn it.”

Blake wiggled his eyebrows. “You mean in front of people, right? Because I sure as Hell didn’t hear you complaining about it when I— _ow!_ “

Adam smacked him on the stomach. Hard.

“You’re going home alone tonight, Shelton,” he announced, sitting back down. The audience was in stitches, “Go back to your seat.”

***

“I’m not short,” Adam whined when Blake argued that he could get tired in his short legs and that he needed to take Adam out to his car in his arms as well, “You’re just too fucking tall.”

He knew better by now and didn’t call Blake an oaf or Sasquatch or anything that could make him think Adam was actually calling him fat and ugly. The man could be really sensitive when it came to that.

“Fine,” Blake relented, “But can I stay with you tonight?”

Adam sighed. Blake was absurdly good at making puppy eyes for a man of his size and age.

“You better,” he replied and stood in his tiptoes to kiss him in thanks.

Blake took advantage of it to flush him against his chest, fingers entwining possessively in Adam’s belt loops as his other hand rested in the small of his back.

Adam got a little carried away with the kiss, just a little bit, and Blake happily followed his lead with his tongue.

Adam shook himself out of it soon enough. “C’mon, chop chop. I’m driving.”

***

As soon as they were inside Adam’s house Blake nuzzled his shoulder and scooped him up.

Adam was more or less used to it by now. He held on to Blake with both arms and legs and tried not to enjoy too much how his big hands felt gripping his thighs.

It was too distracting. They didn’t even have dinner yet.

***

Blake didn’t get tired of manhandling him in bed, not even when they weren't having sex.

He was an incurable and rather picky cuddler.

Sometimes Adam woke up to him rearranging Adam’s body against his side or on top of him or a little of both, as if casual and accidental spooning during the night just didn’t cut it for him.

He’d murmur some endearment and bury his face in Adam’s nape or his hair.

And really, even with all the embarrassments he was making Adam go through, he couldn’t stay mad at him. He never could, least of all resting between Blake’s arms.

Besides, as much as Blake loved how ‘small’—he wasn’t small, goddamn it—he was, well—Adam kind of loved how caring the Country singer was with him.

He could put up with a bit of manhandling for him.


	21. insomnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: hurt!adam and worried!protective!blake. adam gets insomnia, takes meds and can't be woken in the morning.

Adam has periods of time in which sleep evades him.

It either happens in small doses—he can’t sleep longer than three hours each night and attempts at napping are frustrating and unsuccessful no matter how much yoga he does beforehand—or all in one go when he’s up for a day, then two, then three and his body shuts down somewhere along day four.

This time however as the fourth night without sleeping a wink comes to an end and he’s so tired he’d scream if he had enough energy left in him—he doesn’t; he barely has enough to drag his feet and move around slowly and if he talks it’s with grunts and huffs that require the least amount of effort—or maybe he’d cry a little but that’s beyond him now as well.

Feeling like his brain is about to explode, he calls a cab and hauls his sorry ass to a hospital.

***

He remembers belatedly that sick celebrities are still celebrities and doesn’t grab a cap or sunglasses on his way out so he spends the next hour in the E.R. signing autographs and nodding absently to whoever is gushing next to him about his band and about him, squinting under the fluorescent lights of the waiting room.

The doctor listens with mild interest, eyebrows shooting to his hairline once Adam tells him exactly how many hours it’s been since the last time he slept. He kinda looks like death warmed over so the guy doesn’t question it.

Really, everything Adam wants are sleeping pills his own doctor could provide but she’s on vacations—because that’s just Adam’s luck—and he doesn’t want to look like a junkie. He’s mad enough about needing drugs as it is.

The doctor taps on his clipboard, asks Adam routine questions—and yes, Adam’s tried removing caffeine from his diet, has tried exercise and pretty much anything you can name—but then there’s this one that irks him.

“Is there anything new that’s troubling you?” the doctor queries, all cold professionalism, and Adam’s stomach plummets to his fucking feet.

Yes. Yes, there is.

He blinks—slowly, carefully—and swallows down the shock he feels at realizing he can’t sleep because his dumb charming Country son of a bitch of a boyfriend is away on tour and this is the first time they’ve been apart for a long period of time since they are… well, since they _are_.

Adam’s never been this clingy, this codependent, and he hates it with every fiber of his being but there’s no button he can press inside to shut down the fear, the anxiety; to shut down his mind from worrying over missing Blake for the rest of his life instead of only for a while.

The doctor gives him the prescription and an appointment for a therapist Adam won’t see because that’s not what he needs.

What he needs, he thinks, is to compartmentalize.

***

Blake surprises him that night calling him before a show.

“ _I miss you so damn much_ ,” the Country singer swears, sounding almost pained, “ _I didn’t think this through, should’ve packed you up too_.”

Adam chuckles tiredly. His eyes smart and he’s glad Blake can’t watch him wiping a tear from the corner of his eye that’s equal parts joy and exhaustion. His chest heaves and even that hurts; he’s in that awful point in which it’s been so long since he’s rested properly every muscle in his body twinges and weighs down on him.

He has the ridiculous thought of taking a plane if only to curl up next to Blake for just one night but discards it quickly.

Music is first, that’s the arrangement.

Whatever it is that they have comes second.

And Adam’s insomnia—that’s not important.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, eyelids drooping, “I’d like that.”

“ _Oh?_ ” Blake perks up, “ _You gonna let me fold you over and squeeze you into one of my bags and take you out in my bed at night and_ use _you?_ ”

Adam isn’t really in the mood for this but he moans breathily for Blake and sighs a _yes_ into his iPhone.

If Blake wants to get off to the sound of his voice before a concert then Adam will happily oblige. Blake needing him that much warms him in a way that has nothing to do with sex and also terrifies him more than a little bit.

He ends up not needing the pill that night after all.

***

Blake’s schedule is on the fridge, a magnet of some rowdy bar on the road that he loves visiting when he’s touring securing it in place.

Adam refuses to look at it until he’s run out of options; when Blake’s forgotten button-downs don’t smell like him anymore, when his pillow and his side in Adam’s bed don’t hold the shape of him any longer, when Adam has already drank the last of Bacardi he left open if only to have a little taste of his very own cowboy on his tongue.

But then he has to look because he has to sleep and so far the only thing—besides the drugs that are still sitting grudgingly on Adam’s nightstand, untouched—that’s helped is listening to his tall and handsome lover late at night, body already nestled in the sheets they share when Blake is in L.A.

When he calls Blake and asks him if he can listen to him singing over the phone, there’s a pause—an intake of breath, a quiet sound Blake makes in surprise.

Adam is a grown ass man. He doesn’t blush very often.

He’s blushing right now.

“ _You like my music that much?_ ” Blake asks and fuck it all if Adam doesn’t feel like an asshole for the note of incredulity in his voice.

“No, I just love going to sleep hearing stuff I can’t stand,” Adam scoffs, “Of course I do, dumbass! Now are you going to let me listen or not?”

“ _I don’t know, maybe,_ ” Blake drawls, teasing, but Adam can hear the smile in his tone and he feels better, if barely, “ _Gosh, Adam, I miss you_.”

Adam smiles tightly. He knows for a fact Blake doesn’t miss him as much as Adam does—Hell, as it is, with over a month of this unbearable distance ahead of them, Adam doubts he’ll be able to function.

And all the way over there is Blake, completely fine with it, having a blast—as he _should_ —doing what he loves and performing in front of tons of beautiful women to boot.

Adam wishes what he feels could be explained as simple jealousy but it isn’t that; it goes deeper, _cuts_ deeper, and every night without Blake’s strong arms around him he worries sick he won’t ever have that—have _him_ —back.

It’s the worst thing he’s ever felt.

“Yeah,” he rasps and very pointedly avoids sounding like a love-sick teenager whispering _no, baby, I miss you more_ , “Miss you too. Now go get your ass on stage, Big Country. Do your worst.”

Blake laughs. “ _Will do_ ,” he assures, “ _For you, sweetheart_.”

***

Blake collects favors, makes promises and begs in order to get himself on a flight to L.A. for the only two days in a row in which he has no venues to play.

His heart has wanted nothing but to be back to Adam’s side ever since he had to leave and Blake can finally indulge it for a little while.

He’s excited but unsteady with nerves as he uses his keys to go into Adam’s house.

He knows this is the right thing to do, that Adam will welcome this surprise; he knows both of them need each other desperately and if he has to be the one to give in then so be it, he’ll do it happily to bring a smile to Adam’s face.

The front man has been so much more loving than Blake was expecting. It’s an awful thing to think but it’s true; Blake was too used to them bickering to realize what he was missing and every little thing Adam does to reassure Blake of his place in his heart threatens to swell his chest so much it’ll burst with it, with the love Blake had been painstakingly keeping to himself.

These are things he won’t say—not yet. It’s too early in their relationship for anything close to a love confession and while he doesn’t think Adam would get spooked he won’t risk it. He’s too invested in this, in them, in turning what they’re nurturing into something long-lasting and gentle but fun.

It’s early in the morning and Adam’s dogs come to greet him with wriggling tails and hungry barks. Blake feeds them, frowning, and hopes that Adam isn’t out parting because he doesn’t exactly have very long to be with him.

If Adam went out last night he’s already back. Blake finds him huddled in bed, hair tousled and mouth slightly open.

There are bags under his eyes that Blake knows from experience can’t form in one day. He feels a little like a villain waking his obviously weary lover up but not enough to stop, just enough to press a soft kiss on Adam’s nose as good morning instead of screaming something goofy to make him jump out of dream land.

Adam doesn’t move—at all. He’s not a heavy sleeper, at least not since they’re together, and Blake feels panic bubbling in his chest when shaking Adam’s shoulders and calling him out loud don’t work either.

He forces the fear down for the moment and focuses on the practical things he can do; he checks Adam’s pulse, finds it slow but steady, and puts a hand on his chest to feel the rise and fall of it with each breath even though he’s not reassured until he’s pressed his face against Adam’s nose and feels the air leaving his lungs warm and soft on his own skin.

He’s completely listless; Blake picks him up and places him in his lap and has to support his head like a baby so it doesn’t hang at an awkward angle.

One hand carding through Adam’s hair, he reaches for the opened bottle of medication on the nightstand and reads the label.

It’s Ambien and it apparently hit Adam like a horse tranq.

Blake takes a deep breath and debates whether or not to call an ambulance. He’s no doctor and for all he knows, the only reason Adam is still asleep is because he took the pill recently.

He’s also a bit peeved—hurt, alright, he’s _hurt_ —that Adam didn’t tell him his insomnia had gotten this bad while he was away. That he wasn’t there didn’t mean he didn’t care, damn it, and he thought that Adam knew— _understood—_ that.

Thankfully Adam makes this cute noise just then—something between a sigh and a yawn—and Blake finds he’s not half as mad about it anymore while looking down at the sleepy smile Adam is giving him.

“Hey,” Adam says softly, clumsy limbs rearranging themselves around Blake until Adam can nuzzle against his neck and sigh again, “You’re back early.”

“Just for a couple of days,” Blake explains, mouth brushing Adam’s ear as he breathes him in. If he didn’t know any better, he’d tease the smaller man about using Blake’s shampoo. As it is, he does, so he just grins, “I wasn’t kidding about missing you too much, y’know.”

Blake peppers his cheek and neck with kisses to illustrate his point. Adam hums, pleased, and curls his hand on Blake’s nape.

Blake leaves him on the mattress again for a short moment, toes off his shoes and climbs up in the bed with Adam, effortlessly pulling him into his arms to catch some shuteye since it looks like Adam can’t do much that blink at the ceiling and smile dopily at him.

They cuddle for a while, Adam letting out a long sigh as Blake absentmindedly keeps caressing his back with a hand.

“Doctor said not to drive—we can fuck,” Adam slurs, tugging at Blake’s flannel shirt as his lips outline his jaw, turning a pretty shade of red at the burn of his stubble, “C’mon.”

It’s not hard for Blake to hush Adam and keep him lying on his chest—he’s barely moving, uncoordinated fingers trying to get Blake naked despite he clearly doesn’t have energy for much else.

“Later,” Blake promises, kissing him on the temple, “Let’s nap now.”

Adam shudders in his arms, surprises him turning to hurl the bottle of pills off the bedside table and scatter them everywhere on the floor.

He’s back to press against him soon enough but the misery in the air is almost enough for Blake to touch it and more than enough for him to sense it.

“Missed you so bad,” Adam confesses, so quietly it’s a wonder Blake hears him, “You’re finally here and I—I can’t even keep my fucking eyes open.”

The unspoken hits Blake all the same; the insomnia, how his absence made it worse and how Adam’s been trying to hide that from him probably for the same reasons Blake has been keeping quiet about the extent of his feelings for the rock star.

It’s heartening, this revelation he was never optimistic enough to expect.

When good chemistry isn’t enough to keep them together, they’ll have more reasons. They won’t fall part.

“I’m here now,” he says, “and I’m coming back later, Adam. I’m coming back.”

Maybe Adam can hear the unspoken too; how Blake isn’t fooling around, how he’s wanted this for too damn long to change his mind being a few weeks away from Adam.

He relaxes, weaves a leg around Blake’s hips as if making sure Blake won’t sneak out from under him while he’s sleeping and grips a handful of his shirt, head fitting perfectly beneath his chin.

“’Kay,” Adam mumbles, “I’ll be here.”

Blake lets his hands settle on the small of Adam’s back and the back of his neck and smiles.


	22. apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Adam taking Blake red wildflowers as an apology for being a dick… Thinking the joke would kinda help ease the tension from their little tiff from earlier, but then waiting for Blake to answer the door, getting nervous, wiping his palms on his jeans and thinking about tossing the flowers, because, “do dudes bring other dudes flowers?” But before he can decide where to stash them, Blake opens the door and at first he still looks hurt, but then he sees the flowers and how nervous Adam looks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is based on [these](https://twitter.com/adamlevine/status/526895148555587584) [tweets](https://twitter.com/blakeshelton/status/526895375253127168).
> 
> Slash if you squint.

Adam sighed and gripped the bouquet a little tighter, knocking on the door with his left hand before he could chicken out of this.

He’d been standing outside like an idiot for over five minutes, staring at the flowers as if they’d changed since the impromptu trip to the florist.

They hadn’t—obviously—they were still the same arrangement of wildflowers and daisies that had caught Adam’s eye with their clean, bright colors and sweet, fresh smell. The bouquet was even the correct size; large enough for Blake’s big paws not to crush them when he got them.

Maybe that was the whole issue with this, what turned it into something that didn’t feel like a joke—as he planned it’d be and in this moment felt so far from it that it made his palms sweat—at all. Maybe he should ditch the flowers and simply say he was sorry.

He still couldn’t believe what he’d said to Blake. Putting his foot in his mouth was definitely one of his specialties. It was just too bad apologizing didn’t make it on the list too. He kinda needed that skillset, needed it badly enough to keep the flowers and plaster a playful smile on his face.

He rubbed his face with a hand and waited, tapping nervously with his foot and checking his watch every five seconds.

Fuck, he was so worried.

***

“You’re just too used to being lucky, buddy,” Adam said, shrugging, at the first pause Blake did mid-ramble of his team’s performance this season, “Sometimes it’s just not that easy, you know.”

Time seemed to stand still as Blake fixed a blank look on him.

Adam blinked, frowning. “What?”

“ _What_?” Blake repeated, outraged, “Do you really think I’ve won this show three times  _in a row_  thanks to luck, Adam? You, of all people?”

“That’s not—“ Adam stammered, “Look, I didn’t mean you didn’t work—“

“You’re damn right I did,” Blake cut him off, standing to pace around the room only to stop and stare at him in a way that made Adam’s breath hitch, “I worked my ass off for it every single time.”

“I know that,” Adam assured him, raising his hands in a placating gesture, “Of course I know that, man. I just meant luck plays a role in it too, you know? A big one.”

Blake huffed. “And I play a small one, is that what you’re saying?”

The country singer left his half-empty glass on the coffee table with a loud clunk. Adam cringed and got to his feet.

“Blake, I was just kidding,” Adam said, hurried, “I thought that with the audience picking the winner you’d understand where I was coming from, okay? My bad.”

Blake laughed—not his booming, familiar laugh but something sharp and mirthless that had Adam looking at him in dismay. “You’re fucking unbelievable, buddy, that I gotta give to you. Only a jackass like you could apologize but say he’s right in the same sentence.”

Adam winced. “I didn’t mean—“

Blake held a hand up. “Oh, but you did,” he paused, as if still giving Adam a chance to fix this, a pause Adam spent fumbling for words in his head and finding none, “Thanks for the drinks. See you on Monday. Who knows? Maybe I’ll actually be working for a change.”

“Blake—“

Adam reached to stop him but it was too late.

Blake didn’t quite slam the front door of his house.

For Adam, it was a punch in the gut all the same.

***

Blake opened the door, eyes still downcast and mouth pinched on a scowl.

“Hey,” Adam greeted, sheepish, “Could you give me like, ten seconds before you kick me out?”

Blake looked at the bouquet in his hands. His lips twitched.

“I’ll think about it,” he taunted, “You’re already out anyway. Shoot.”

Adam halted the relief that wanted to flood his veins at Blake already teasing him. This wasn’t over. He hadn’t fixed anything yet.

He sucked in air and extended the flowers to Blake with a small, hopeful smile.

“There’s a—huh, a card,” he informed him, “You might wanna read it.”

Blake raised his eyebrows but plucked the little envelope from the top and opened it.

“Sorry I’m a jackass,” he read out loud, cradling the medium-sized bouquet to his chest, and snorted, “Well, can’t say that’s not genuine.”

Adam ducked his head and cleared his throat.

There was one more thing he had to do.

“You deserved it,” he admitted quietly, “You deserve winning every single time. I’m sorry.”

Blake sighed and finally stepped to the side to let Adam in.

Once they were inside with the door locked on Adam’s back, Blake embraced him with an arm, flushing him so tight against him they ended up crushing the flowers a bit, and gave him the briefest of kisses on his hairline.

“Thank you,” his friend whispered, “It means a lot, coming from you.”

Adam smiled and sagged against him, grateful too. He clung to Blake’s shoulders and enjoyed every bit of the overly-long hug they shared.


	23. Adam is the youngest AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: (Pretend Adam's the youngest) Where the coaches and stuff realize that Adam's the youngest out of them all, especially compared to like Carson who's five years older than Adam. And you can incorporate Shevine in any way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I managed this but huh... I tried? Apologies for the lack of Carson in it.

“Ay, bebé,” Shakira said, giggling and babbling something else in Spanish that Adam couldn’t make sense of.

“Yeah, what she said,” Usher approved, patting Adam on the shoulder and laughing harder when he huffed and shook his hand off, “Oh, come on, Adam, you gotta admit it was funny.”

They had gone out the night before to a new club in town.

They were still laughing at how Adam got carded in the entrance and how Blake had to step in to help him because of fucking course the lead man—who was very much legal, had been for years, thank you very much—didn’t have his ID on him.

Blake had surrounded Adam’s shoulders with an arm, pulled him snugly to his side and sweet-talked the bouncer, promising he’d take care of Adam himself once they were inside.

To Adam’s consternation, he actually kept his word and didn’t stray from Adam all night. The only reason they weren’t together longer was because Blake was embarrassed of his dancing moves and couldn’t stay on the dance floor for longer than a couple of songs at a time without sneaking out to get another drink.

Sure, the guy wasn’t the best dancer in the world—to be honest, Adam wasn’t either—but he was good enough when he wasn’t trying to make people laugh. His sense of rhythm was impeccable if you asked Adam and that was all that it took to be decent, even without much motor coordination.

He’d taken Blake out for a dance as a way to get back at him for treating him like a little kid at the first slow song he heard.

It had backfired on him the second he realized he quite liked having Blake’s big body pressed against his with his head cradled under his chin, his warmth raising a flush to Adam’s cheeks. His hands felt like a brand on his waist and Adam was so stunned by his own reaction that he didn’t even notice he wasn’t leading anymore until the song was over and Blake was teasing him about how good he was at following.

Fuck, he had almost stretched up to kiss the stupid Country asshole, that was how much lost in it he’d been and it was supposed to be just a fucking joke.

He’d spent the rest of the night out in a sulk.

The guys thought it was for the scene at the entry and Adam was so not going to tell them they were wrong.

Speaking of the devil, Blake came to have lunch with them with a shit-eating grin on his dimply face. He was in a ridiculous good mood today and his pathetic attempt at whistling was kinda endearing.

He sat beside Adam, erasing any trace of personal space whatsoever, and stole a few bites from Adam’s plate while the younger man halfheartedly swatted at his hands to stop him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Blake drawled, “I forgot you’re still growing, silly me!” he paused to fill Adam’s plate with pretty much everything that was on the buffet and offered a fork with mashed potatoes to him, “Here, open up!”

“Fuck you,” Adam mumbled but he reached and ate it anyway, just to be contrary.

He knew Blake didn’t think he’d do it.

He could swear the Country singer stuttered a breath and adjusted his legs awkwardly after that, his eyes still pretty much fixed on Adam’s lips.

“You guys need a room?” Shakira asked impishly, “I’m sure Blake’s trailer is big enough and we trust him to take care of our little baby, don’t we, Usher Terrence?”

Usher spluttered.

“Um,” he said, looking at them both with wide eyes, “Yeah?”

“I wasn’t,” Blake cleared his throat and avoided everyone’s eyes in a way that made Adam smirk. Apparently he wasn’t the only one with a bit of a crush, “We weren’t—I don’t know what the Hell you’re talking about, Shak. You’re, huh, seeing stuff. We, uh—“

Adam glimpsed around. He judged that part of the studio empty enough to grab Blake by the lapels and kissed him briefly on the lips, effectively cutting off his nervous and thick accented string of lame excuses.

“I’m picking you up at eight,” he proclaimed cheekily, “And I don’t put out until the third date so you better bring out the big guns if you want me sooner, cowboy.”

Blake seemed frozen for about a second but recovered quickly and chased his lips, tilting Adam’s chin up to slot Adam’s upper lip between his own for just enough time to make Adam’s breath hitch.

“Eight it is,” Blake agreed, tipping an imaginary hat at him, “And I will, honey, I will. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”


	24. watching a porno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: [Adam and Blake watch a porno](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2471078/chapters/5480300).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is filthy smut, guys, with a dash of... fluff/angst? Flangst? Idek. Hope you like it, [StayCalmAndBergeron](http://archiveofourown.org/users/StayCalmAndBergeron/pseuds/StayCalmAndBergeron).

When Blake proposes that they watch a porno together on date night, Adam knows it’s a bluff.

There’s just no way in Hell his stupid charming Country son of a bitch—and up until the point Adam seduced the pants off of him, completely heterosexual—has watched a _gay_ porno in his life, let alone enough gay pornos to be the connoisseur he pretty much describes himself as.

Adam isn’t going to let Blake off the hook that easy though so he agrees with a hearty smile.

***

Fast-forward a couple of weeks until they both have a smidge of spare time and here they are in front of Adam’s big flat screen with some horrendously cheap porn playing.

The ‘plot’—there isn’t any but that’s a given with most porn, really—is about a young guy going to visit a friend only to discover his friend isn’t home but his very horny father is. The older man was jerking off to—wait for it—cheap porn when the unsuspecting and very hormonal barely-legal twink arrives and they exchange, say, five words before getting right down to business with the younger dude giving the older one a blowjob.

Seriously, they don’t even kiss first, which yeah, isn’t that uncommon in porn but Adam likes it better when they do. It seems more genuine and usually the people in it are at least a bit into each other for real.

He makes a face and decides that ten minutes is more than enough to give Blake shit for it.

“Is this your way of telling me you’re a creepy old man?” he jokes, turning to look at Blake with a smirk, “Because let me tell you, Big Country, I knew that already.”

Blake instantly deflates—he’s been fidgeting, wriggling his fingers in the same way he used to do when he still had a ring on his finger—and looks down with blotches of red creeping down his neck.

“I look old, don’t I?” Blake says, his jeans as loose as they were when he arrived to Adam’s place. The movie apparently isn’t making much for either of them.

He blinks slowly, blindsided by his own screw-up. Sometimes he wishes he could shove words right back down his throat.

Blake scratches his stubble, fingers lingering beneath his chin as his hand seems to measure exactly how much thicker his neck is than when he felt young and handsome—if he’d ever felt that way at all, which Adam doubts.

The man can be unbelievably confident in his pitch and ability to stay in the pocket, refusing more often than not to wear the in-ear monitors everyone else uses on stage, but that’s where his self-assurance starts and ends too—quite more abruptly than Adam would like.

Blake is like sex on legs for him. He has a hard time wrapping his head around the fact Blake doesn’t see himself the same way.

He swallows the self-loathing for later and straddles Blake’s lap to get his attention; it’s a bulletproof method to make the Country singer derail from whatever gloomy train of thought he immerses himself in.

Blake blinks big, uncertain and way— _way_ —too blue eyes at him.

Behind Adam, the crappy porno moves on to fucking by the sounds of it; absolutely fake, loud moans from the twink, the telltale slap of skin on skin and the occasional grunt from the top.

“Hey,” Adam murmurs, not exactly sure whether he gives in and kisses Blake softly because it’s the right thing to do or just because he’s dying to from this close, “That was a joke, baby. You know me, I’m an asshole; I make mean jokes. You’re not old and you don’t look old either, okay?”

Blake sighs. He looks resigned, not comforted, but his big hands entwine around Adam’s waist and he leans in for another kiss. His lips are gentle and familiar with Adam’s in a way that makes him shiver. He kisses back and wishes there wouldn’t be an edge of sadness in it that may have been there for a while but that he brought to the surface with the subtlety of a punch in the face.

“Please, trust me on this. You’re handsome,” he tries again, cupping Blake’s face this time, “You’re so, so handsome. I’ll start making inappropriate jokes about it if that’s what it takes for you to believe me, Blake.”

There’s nothing special in his words—maybe it’s how he says them; lowly but urgently, as if he were willing to scream himself hoarse to even _begin_ changing Blake’s mind about his own looks. Maybe it’s how his eyes are welling up with the need to make the Country star understand or a combination of both—but somehow Blake smiles, the darkness in his eyes dissipating like clouds after a storm, and caresses Adam’s back in the exact way the fucker _knows_ turns him on right away.

He arches like a cat against the touch and can’t hold back a moan, the two of them chuckling when it gets mixed with the ones from the screen.

“Well would you look at that,” Blake teases, “You do moan like a porn star.”

Adam scoffs. “Please. Those aren’t porn stars. They’re so bad at it, _so_ bad—“

Blake cuts him off with a kiss that Adam is all too happy to open up to, lacing his arms around Blake’s neck.

It feels immediately different, it _is_ different—he doesn’t remember Blake kissing him with this much passion without him initiating it first—and it feels fucking fantastic, the way his boyfriend’s lips glide over his with renewed confidence and the way his tongue brushes wherever it wants in Adam’s mouth, teeth nipping at his bottom lip just so to make it tingle and not sting.

Five minutes of that and Blake’s wandering hands groping him on top of his tight clothes have him hard and wanton. He can feel the taller man’s own arousal grinding against him firmly and bends to reach the remote on the coffee table.

He lost his right to tease Blake about his lame choice of porn anyway so he’s going to let this go and make the most of their night together.

Blake stops him, leaning down with him and sucking a lovebite on his neck and then two more—which, okay, Adam can consent to; he’ll just have to button his shirts all the way up for a day or two, no big deal—successfully making his hand falter in its purpose.

Adam keens, rutting and arching even more as he’s encased between Blake’s bulky chest and legs, and scrambles to hold on to Blake’s head and keep it in place instead, remote be damned.

Blake keeps leaving marks on his neck, almost mimicking the pattern of his prayer beads tattoo higher on his skin. It looks like he’s going to have to wear button-ups for a week at least, huh.

Adam knows he should care about that but cannot.

On screen, they change positions—possibly for the third time—and keep fucking with no finesse and no kisses.

The lousy porno can go on. Adam doesn’t care about that either.

Blake licks his way to his lips and kisses the breath out of him, the tender hand that’s cradling Adam’s nape a stark contrast to the demanding flicks of his tongue and the way his lips seem to take his compliance for granted and dictate exactly the heated rhythm they want.

When they finally break apart, Adam is so lightheaded he can only pant and let Blake hold him up as he looks up at him in wonder.

Who knew his cowboy could be this assertive?

He can’t decide what he wants more; to have Blake in his mouth and remind him what a good blowjob feels like or wrap himself over the couch and let Blake fuck him senseless.

He sucks in a breath and rushes up, fingers fumbling to open Blake’s jeans and get _all_ of him—because fuck yeah, he's _hung_ —out.

Blake occupies himself licking his earlobe and peppering his neck with wet, noisy kisses that make Adam writhe and whine in his hold, impatient and randy as if he’d been in a dry spell for months instead of—a week, maybe, if he counts the quickie they sneaked in Blake’s trailer.

Good memories there, although he had to do most of the work—not that he complains, there’s something to say about having his boyfriend’s dick so deep inside him there were little black spots in his vision because he didn’t prep enough and his leg muscles were going to burn even more than his ass when he was done fucking himself on the very hard length of one stunned Blake Shelton—the way the taller man had clamped a hand over Adam’s mouth to prevent anyone from hearing them and bit Adam’s clothed collarbone to keep quiet too had been hot enough to get seared into his brain.

They don’t usually bother undressing completely but Blake keeps tugging at his clothes until Adam is naked, legs in the air as he peers at his lover between them; Blake is so hot and he doesn’t let Adam stare at him when he’s naked nearly enough so he tries to get his fill now of his manly and sun-tanned build, just about hairy and muscly enough for Adam to love it.

The knowledge Blake does literally nothing to be this sexy—while Adam is always taking care of his body to be nice-looking—turns him on too, so much that he forgets about what he did and how he’s supposed to be fixing it.

Blake doesn’t seem to mind; he grabs Adam’s feet, massaging them a little with his thumbs, and bears down on him to reach his lips again.

Adam sighs into Blake’s mouth, breathy and lewd, and doesn’t even care if what follows to the tantalizing teasing of his lover’s cock between his cheeks is him pressing right in. It’ll be too dry, sure, but nothing than a bit of pre-come and spit can’t fix.

He likes this new side of Blake too much to ask him to stop so he can go for the lube they keep in the bedroom. And he did finger himself in the shower before their date so he’s pretty much ready to go.

He stretches a hand, squeezing Blake’s ass to guide him even further down on him. Blake grunts, hips rocking to slot his length right— _there_ —oh, and he’s almost in, the head pushing to fit in Adam’s entrance. Adam spreads his legs wider, eager, holds his breath in anticipation and—fuck, just, just a little more pressure and—

And Blake stands up abruptly, making Adam cry out at the loss of his weight on him and what was to come.

“BRB,” he says to infuriate Adam, chuckling, and it’d probably work if Adam weren’t so fucking _horny_ he doesn’t even care about anything except getting what he wants.

Still, there’s not much he can do to stop Blake from whatever it is he wants to do—not even if he moves, which he does not.

He lifts his head and tilts it to the side. On the movie, things are getting frantic so they stop and change positions—again—cutting off the build-up to an orgasm that wasn’t going to be great anyway.

“That’s a shitty-ass porno you picked there,” Adam mocks the Country star once he’s back.

Blake ignores the taunt, doesn’t even look like he heard it, too busy coating his dick with a generous amount of lube. He leaves the bottle on the coffee table, the clap closing with a clack that sounds loud to Adam’s ears.

He arches on the couch, spreading his legs again for Blake to take him already.

“Want something?” Blake asks, positioning himself like he was before on top of him right between his thighs and rubbing against the cleft of his ass, voice smug and obnoxious, “My dick maybe?”

Adam swears he could sock him but not right now. It’s a running joke (“You’re a dick”, “I am but you love this dick.”) between them—kind of immature but that’s no surprise—that isn’t half as funny when they’re in bed and Adam _wants_.

He blushes even deeper but he’s ready to demand what he wants when Blake beats him to it; breaching him slowly until he’s sheathed to the hilt and breathing harshly through his nose as Adam’s mouth hangs open and he stares, unseeing, at the ceiling.

The moan Blake causes is long and loud enough to muffle the sounds coming from the TV for a moment but Adam is past caring; he strokes Blake’s back as his lover thrusts just right to turn his voice into countless high-pitched sounds ten times more obscene than the porno still playing.

He accepts every kiss Blake leans down to give him with the gratitude and desperation of a drowning man, craning his neck to slide his wet and kiss-swollen lips against Blake’s demanding ones.

“Like this?” Blake asks him, holding on to the arm of the couch with both hands on each side of Adam’s head to drive faster and deeper into him.

“Yes,” Adam whimpers, arching his neck and closing his eyes, pleasure a taut and intense pull in his groin that grows and grows. His cock is hard and leaking on his belly and he’s going to come without a finger on him, he can feel it, “Fuck, Blake, _yes_.”

The noises he’s going to be embarrassed about later gain speed and volume along with Blake’s hips, completely in-sync, and this—shit, this is it, everything he ever hoped to feel with Blake as a partner; it’s so good Adam’s world starts and ends in their fucking and he could have this every day and never get tired of it, of them moving together and merging as one.

Blake lowers a hand to touch where Adam is stretched wide around him and that’s it—Adam’s eyes water, his limbs tingle, and his legs bent on the knee close like a vice around Blake’s hips as he clamps down on him hard enough to extract a roar out of him.

He spurts hard enough he hits his own chin with it.

Blake laps at it, still rutting against him, and sounds so wrecked Adam wants to pat himself on the back.

He totally did a good job at cheering him up after—um.

“Fuck, Adam, your ass,” he groans, giving him an open-mouthed kiss that’s more tongue than anything else so the smaller man can taste himself, “So tight.”

“Nnngh,” Adam replies, not very smartly.

He’s smiling like he’s high—and he might be, that’s where a good release gets you—and looking at Blake through eyes that are more closed than open when Blake pulls out and turns him over so fast he’s on his stomach in the blink of an eye with his lover pounding into him as he stretches almost to his full height, arms keeping Adam still beneath him as if his weight on top of him and his dick as deep in him as it can go weren’t enough to pin him in place.

Adam can’t help the moans that are fucked out of him, even though he’s soft. He makes a point on clenching around Blake every time he’s inside of him and he’s impressed with his lover’s stamina—the porno is over, the screen black beside them, and yet Blake isn’t satisfied until much later when his climax seems to cut every string on him and has him falling on Adam to catch his breath, kissing his shoulders almost reverently and murmuring sweet nothings that the lead man is too spent to memorize.

Adam makes an even bigger mess of the couch when Blake slowly draws back, leaking come and lube on the cushions and way too limp to care.

He’s ready to whine for him to stay for a little longer when Blake simply sits down and scoops him up to his lap, buck naked and looking so happy Adam feels disarmed by his grin and his stupid dimples and that twinkle in his eyes that he’s never seen before but that he longs to see more often now.

Adam promises he’ll show him better porn next time—at least, that’s what he tries to mumble against the side of Blake’s neck just this shy of his nape—but Blake shushes him, kissing his temple and staying close to nuzzle against his cheek.

“No need,” his lover says softly, “I’m into you and you’re into me. You’re all I wanna hear, all I wanna see, and if I’m enough for you then this is how I like it.”

“Stupid jerk,” Adam sighs, kissing Blake’s jawline and keeping his lips on top of the warm and stubbly skin. His own clean-shaven cheeks sting pleasantly after kissing so much with him, “Of course you are. This was _your_ idea.”

He feels the taller man shrugging more than he sees him. It’d piss him off if he didn’t understand so well why Blake suggested this; to impress him, to make sure Adam had something to get off to with time in their hands for a change.

“’Sides, you were so much better, honey,” Blake remarks, his tone playful, “Wasted potential, for damn sure.”

Adam snorts, cuddling against his dumb but charming hick of a boyfriend.

He looks forward to some regular—that he can bet will be anything but—good old foreplay with Blake on their next date.


	25. turned-into-a-girl!Adam part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: part two where after Adam is turned back into a guy (or not) and his attacker comes after him again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This follows up from Chapter 8. Same warnings apply.
> 
> ETA: I should probably warn about a bit of gender dysphoria. It'll be more developed if I continue this.

It’d been months since that day, since he’d unwillingly gained an inkling of what being a woman meant.

The longest week of his life, for sure, probably because he sulked and refused to go with the flow and have a little fun with his new more petite and thin body. He didn’t touch himself—every time he tried he didn’t feel the familiar tingle of arousal in his lower belly and quite frankly not seeing his dick between his legs put a giant lump in his throat that was hard to maneuver around to get it on.

Part of him knew he’d been too scared. He was so afraid he was going to like sex as a woman far more than he liked it as a man—there were ways to keep his body in its altered state, in its new genre, but what about his career? What about his voice? He couldn’t sing for Maroon 5 with a woman’s voice. As high as his voice was, their albums just weren’t thought for a female to be the vocalist. So better not go there, he told himself, and spent those seven days hating himself and the fucker who’d done that to him.

Blake’s visit was unexpected but not exactly surprising. It was literally impossible to keep the Okie from doing whatever he felt like doing and if he had it in his head he wanted to see Adam, then the lead man was going to have him at his door whether he wanted it or not.

Adam didn’t know what he’d been trying to prove dressing in such a provocative way to greet him.

Had he wanted to prove all men were potential rapists, including one of his closest friends? It hurt even to think about that possibility and yet he’d given no fucks about that when he picked the slightly slutty outfit and watched Blake’s every reaction like a hawk.

Or had he been waiting for an ally, for a sign that he could trust Blake completely just as he’d always have ever since they met? Did he really have that much faith in the Country singer? It was hard to tell. He’d listened to plenty of Country music and Blake’s own songs—even if he pretended he didn’t and never paid enough attention to memorize any lyrics—to understand the view he had of women.

Whatever reason he had to do it, he—well, he didn’t regret it, not exactly, but it’d been so hard to stop himself from climbing to Blake’s lap and kissing him that night. Because yeah, he stayed after Adam pursed his lips in the right way to make him cave, and after a while of watching TV together with Blake’s big hand on his thigh and his solid frame to lean on Adam had finally known what exactly being aroused as a woman was like.

He felt… not empty—more like really taut inside, as if he were clenching around nothing and it was maddening to realize he needed something inside, right in the wetness he could feel between his legs.

He’d been mad at first. Blake was doing absolutely nothing to him, they were just cuddling and he had a hand just this shy of his knee with his chin tucked in Adam’s head, and yet Adam’s body longed for him in a way that was so foreign it was terrifying.

Then he was just resigned. He’d always been attracted to Blake. It didn’t matter his body was different in that moment because Blake was the same good old handsome cowboy. It was Adam’s reaction to him that was different and the implications in that moment that he knew Blake would be more receptive to him because he was a woman and he’d been watching Blake close enough to know he found Adam’s female body pretty.

He wondered what his very manly but actually very proper friend would’ve said if Adam had asked him to fuck him, to make him feel like a woman.

It wasn’t exactly the first time he got hot and bothered while being around Blake but being a man made it easier to ignore, if not to hide. There was simply no way the Country star would welcome his advances, even if Adam felt really curious about how being fucked up the ass by him—by him and no one else—could feel like.

Anyway. That ship had sailed. He was a man again and he was glad he hadn’t ruined things with Blake over something so shallow.

The feelings lurking underneath his attraction for Blake were getting almost too strong to be kicked to the back of his head but Adam was nothing if not stubborn. He won every time—he had to.

Loving Blake was a one-way dirt road that he’d be damned to get lost on.

***

He was practically dead on his feet after a live show in which he had to perform with his band and then with his team when he heard it—the door of his trailer locking itself behind him and the footsteps directly coming to him afterward.

He froze for just a second but it was still a second too long. The blow to the head he got when he turned around left him dazed and disoriented. He fell to the ground, blinking sluggishly and feeling something damp and thick stick to one of his eyes. It took him another moment to realize it was blood.

By then, the guy was on top of him, straddling the back of his thighs and gripping his arms hard enough to make his shoulders burn with pain. He was waiting for Adam’s retaliation this time and no matter how much he squirmed and kicked and elbowed him, the man didn’t get dislodge off him.

He couldn’t believe his luck. He had a restriction order on the douche, the man was banned from being in Adam’s general vicinity for the rest of his fucking life and yet there he was; somehow in The Voice studio, about to get what he wanted and couldn’t get the first time he had Adam like this.

“You want me to turn you?” the fucker breathed in his ear, his clothed erection grinding forcefully against Adam’s buttocks, never mind how flat he was trying to make himself on the floor, “Fuck your greedy little pussy instead of your asshole while I make you my bitch?”

Adam tried to shout for help but the guy sneaked an arm around his head—the inner side of his elbow right over Adam’s mouth— and pushed so hard he could hardly breathe, let alone scream, not even after he tried biting him to force him to let go of him.

“C’mon,” his assailant prompted, his pelvis pressing even more insistently to fit his hard-on between his cheeks even through the layers of clothes, “Yes or no, sweetheart. Use that pretty head of yours to answer me.”

Adam shook his head in the painful hold. The man laughed and let go of his hands, probably to start undressing him, and Adam knew it was the only opening he’d get to stop him.

He pushed off the ground with everything he had in him and threw the body off his back, kicking him right on the groin to keep him down for a little longer. He scrambled to the door as fast as his legs could get him despite of how wobbly he felt.

He was turning the doorknob when the asshole grabbed his ankle and pulled, getting him off his feet again.

But Adam had already screamed and made enough noise to be noticed. There was movement outside his trailer, frantic voices asking loudly for him.

He had just enough time to roll out of the way after one window was broken by one of the Security guards and the employee tackled Adam’s attacker with his much bigger and muscled frame.

He crawled to the door, eyes as big as saucers never straying from the fight happening in front of him, and stretched a trembling hand to unlock it.

He huddled in a corner out of reflex when it opened with a loud thud, kicking to push himself around the floor until his back hit the bulkhead. He cradled his legs to his chest, trying to turn himself as small as possible.

Blake came barging in with an expression Adam couldn’t make out through the panicked tears in his eyes. He buried his face in his knees, self-deprecation and fear swirling in his chest like a hurricane.

He was so stupid, Jesus fucking Christ, why couldn’t he stop making a fool of himself? He wanted to pass out, to forget this ever happened—let alone that it’d happened twice.

The man kept yelling that Adam was his until he was knocked out cold by the bodyguard.

The silence that followed was almost as deafening. Adam swallowed every noisy sob that threatened to spill. His head was starting to throb—or maybe he was just starting to feel it—and it wasn’t until he blinked several times that he realized Blake was kneeling in front of him, looking like he was fighting against reaching out to him.

It was all Adam could do to meet his eyes and set his jaw not to cry too loud as Blake carefully cleaned the blood from his eye with his sleeve and inched a bit closer to him.

“You’re okay,” Blake kept repeating, his hand staying close to cup Adam’s bloodstained cheek, “You’re fine, you’re gonna be okay, Adam.”  
“I’m an idiot,” Adam moaned, arms stiffly letting go of his own body to cling to Blake’s neck. It was the only place he felt it was safe enough to hide, to let his guard down again, “I’m—I’m stupid.”

Blake sounded like the breath had been punched out of him when he spoke, quiet but urgent.

“Gosh, Adam, no—no, this wasn’t your fault.”

Someone—Carson? Pharrell?—said something but Adam was too busy crying to understand what it was. He couldn’t even catch what Blake said to him, only burrowed closer to him and shook his head to whatever it was he’d asked him.

Next thing he knew, Blake was picking him up and standing up as if he weighted nothing. Adam stiffened but let himself be led out in Blake’s arms, resolved not to make a scandal over this anymore than he’d already had.

When Blake put him down, it was on a gurney the medical staff had in a small room of the studio.

He squeezed Blake’s hand in his and lied very still as he was checked over, squinting against the light they held over his eyes and following a finger when he was told to.

Blake stayed by his side and didn’t let Adam forget he was there, holding his hand in both of his whenever his breath got uneven and fast.

Adam turned his head to the side and looked up at him—really, really looked at him—and decided it was time to stop lying to himself.

His vision was blurry and too bright but he’d never seen things clearer than in that moment. He knew it right then.

He loved Blake.

He’d just need to learn to live with it.


	26. designer!Blake + model!Adam AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt in the shevine tag on tumblr. Designer!Blake and model!Adam AU.

“So tell me, why should I hire you?”

It’s a standard question in any interview. Yet the answer and the gestures that go with it aren’t; the model in front of him smirks, his picture-perfect stance breaking to lean a hand on the desk Blake shares with his PA and casting director, and looks directly into his eyes as he speaks playfully.

Blake has a sudden urge to start designing a brand new collection right then, filled with the hues of jade and chocolate that compose the breathtaking canvas of Adam’s hazel eyes. His fingers itch with it but he fights it—the interview is barely beginning and his heart is pounding in anticipation of what else this young man has in store for him.

“I think I have enough to make your clothes work,” the model assures, confident, showing him a bit of his catwalk even though they haven’t even asked him to put some of Blake’s clothes yet.

His strolling is almost musical, as if guided by the beats of a song that whispers teasingly in Blake’s ears but that only Adam can hear clearly. Adam turning around to stride back to the desk is a showstopper. He stops two feet from him and poses.

Blake feels like the air has been punched out of him.

He’s been working in New York for almost a year. All those months seem practically wasted now that he finally knows what he’s been missing; this talented man that has very obviously been born for this.

He’s found the model to star in the runway of fashion week.

“Also, I have plenty of experience,” Adam adds, getting close for a second to tap his fingers on his portfolio, just this shy of touching Blake’s own hand, “But I think you know that, since you guys cleared me to come here.”

 _Cocky_ , Blake thinks behind a grin. It’s just perfect since it takes a strong man to make his voice justice. He can’t wait to fit Adam into his clothes and snap a hundred pictures of him in them, inspiration bubbling pleasantly inside of him.

The young man’s energy is the perfect complement to his good looks, turns them intoxicating and almost impossible to stray from.

“What if you’re not what I’m looking for, hmm?” Blake asks.

He’s bluffing, testing the limits of Adam’s self-confidence, and he’s delighted when the model shrugs graciously and looks at him from beneath his long lashes.

“I’m a model in New York City, mister Shelton. I’m no stranger to rejection. It’ll take more than you turning me down to break my heart.”

“Oh?” Blake chuckles, his voice going deep and raspy without his say-so, “Really? Because I think you want this job more than you’re letting on, hotshot.”

Adam’s smile is softer around the edges this time, something vulnerable in it that Blake knows he won’t ever be able to resist. “Maybe I do.”

He falls in love even before discovering every bit of Adam’s body is perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't have internet starting tomorrow. I apologize to the people who are still waiting for fills. With some luck I'll have something to post when I get back.


	27. assault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... have no idea what this is. I'm sorry.
> 
> There is **attempted non-con** in this, you've been warned.
> 
> Also, you'll need to squint really hard to find some Shevine.

_I'm hurting, baby, I'm broken down_  
_I need your loving, loving_  
_I need it now_

Adam crooned the first verses of the last song he’d requested as he sipped his second whiskey of the night. He smiled crookedly around the glass, his guests dancing and singing along working as the perfect cover for the plan he had for the evening.

It was still early, barely ten o’clock, and none of the people mingling and occasionally engaging him in conversation were his friends. He’d decided to go safe and hired a bunch of pretty people for the party.

 _Have fun, act normal and don’t bother the band_ was all he’d asked of them. So far he was very satisfied.

He was about to see if they could keep the last part of the deal, the most important one.

He stood up and walked slowly to a table to put the remnants of his drink down. He was going to need his head clear and his stamina intact for what he had in mind and it was a little sacrifice to make to enjoy the prize he’d spent months scheming how to get.

He smiled contentedly to himself as Adam’s tenor voice reached the higher notes. Thinking that same lovely voice would be moaning for him soon made heat and anticipation stir low in his belly, increasing the incessant high and exhilaration he felt throughout Maroon 5’s whole performance.

Hearing his name gasped out of those pretty pink lips as Adam tipped his head back in the throes of passion, his supple and well-formed body rippling and writhing beneath him—oh, he was sure it’d feel superb, that it’d be a million times better than everything he’d ever imagined.

It was a pity that they only had this one night but he was going to make the most of it.

He approached them as they were coming down the stage, dressed casually and grinning and touching Adam too much for his liking but he controlled himself; they were all good, old friends. They could hug and pat Adam’s back if they wanted.

Honestly, it was the unmistakable glint of affection in Adam’s eyes as he chuckled and joked with them what bothered him the most.

He wanted those gorgeous hazel eyes on him and on him alone, wanted Adam to look at him as if he were his universe. He was going to get that, one way or another.

“Hey!” Adam greeted him, the first one to notice him and wasn’t that the best sign that this was meant to be? “Mike, right?”

He nodded, shaking Adam’s hand first and then making the effort of doing the same with his bandmates. “You guys were amazing,” he congratulated warmly, “You’re welcome to stay if you want. I’d love sharing a few drinks with you and the food is quite good, if I do say so myself.”

“Dude, I’m starving,” Jesse declared, apparently taking the decision for all of them and attacking a few snacks on the first table they came across.

He beckoned a waiter, ordering drinks for everybody. They were enjoying how chill everyone was despite of them being off the stage now so much that they didn’t even glance at his direction as he poured a little something into Adam’s drink.

“I’d like to make a toast,” he called their attention, using the opportunity to slip the glass into Adam’s unsuspecting hand, the waiter beside him doing the same for the rest of Maroon 5, “To the best band in the world.”

Adam ducked his head, a giggle curling his lips at his words as the lights hit his eyelashes just right.

Cameras and flashes didn’t make him justice, not entirely, and he couldn’t get enough of the sight of him right in front of him only made sweeter by the fact he’d be allowed to touch all of Adam in just a little while.

No more longing, not for him.

“Thanks for having us, man,” James said, meeting his glass and accepting the compliment with a slight bow of his head, “We had a blast.”

“And it’s nice to walk around and relax for once,” Mickey joked.

“See, I told you Adam getting married would be nice for all of us,” Matt teased.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Adam groused, a little frown forming on his brow, “How is this on me?”

He laughed with them, gaze fixed on Adam as he drank down his champagne and kept fooling around with his friends.

The front man hadn’t shaved and he liked him better with smooth skin on his face but that could be fixed.

The important thing was that he was here and he’d be his soon.

***

_dude_

_this champagne hit me like a whole bottle of tequila wtf_

_can’t walk straight_

Adam texted him out of the blue around eleven.

Blake chuckled, typing a response while absently watching some TV.

Miranda and Behati laughed in the other room, their happy voices along Adam’s silliness making him smile.

_LOL_

_I’d say call it a night and drink water buddy, no more fun bubbles for you_

_Can’t say I’m surprised a little thing like you can’t hold his liquor_

Adam’s reply came a couple of minutes later and he snorted as he read.

_fuck you_

_just had one glass and im sick_

_wheres everyone_

Adam was so fucking drunk, it was adorable.

_Sounds like you’re having fun_

When almost fifteen minutes went by with no more texts from his friend he shrugged, assuming he’d found something better to do.

It was weird the guys had decided to stick around after a performance, they usually hightailed outta any party they played at because the fans tended to be more daring in the more intimate atmosphere, but hey, maybe the people there didn’t like Maroon 5 much or they remembered they were also people for once and left them be.

_You puking in the bathroom? Very classy, rock star_

_Are you embarrassing yourself? You do that sober already_

He frowned at Adam’s radio silence but didn’t think much of it.

If he kept eyeing his phone from time to time, he told himself it was only because he was bored.

***

“Hey, man,” PJ patted his shoulder, “I couldn’t find him, did you have any luck?”

Jesse sighed. They’d split after losing Adam in the crowd and sure enough, the place was big, but finding him should’ve been easy enough.

They wanted to leave but they wouldn’t leave Adam alone, that was out of the question.

There weren’t many places for Adam to be, it was just weird they hadn’t found him after half an hour of frustratingly pacing around the loft they were at.

“Found the bathrooms,” Matt said, “But he wasn’t there.”

“He’s not answering his phone,” PJ remarked.

“Fuck,” James swore beside him, “He’s not in the kitchen either.”

They shared a look. They’d already joked about how fucking creepy this party was and Jesse was starting to regret staying.

Mickey came back from outside, shaking his head. “The car is still parked where we left it, guys, and the doormen didn’t see him leaving.”

“Okay I’m officially worried,” Jesse voiced what everyone was thinking, “I’m going to kick his ass when he appears out of nowhere laughing, I swear.”

“Lost something?” the guy that hired them suddenly spoke behind them, making them jump.

“Yeah, have you seen Adam?” he asked, scowling when the dude all but smirked, “What, have you?”

“He went to the back with a lady friend,” the man shrugged, “I’m sure you’re used to his ways by now.”

“What? No way, man, I’m sorry but you must’ve seen wrong,” James countered, “Adam would never do that to Behati.”

The millionaire raised his hands, his face mocking instead of pacifying. “No judgment here, James. We all love him for what he is, don’t we?”

Matt gripped his arm before he could jump the asshole.

He’d just called Adam a slut, what the hell?

“He wouldn’t,” James insisted, his jaw clenched and his hands closed in tight fists as he confronted their host, “And if you’re going to go around spreading rumors this will be the first and last time we play for you.”

“I’ll live,” the douche replied easily, “Now if you’d excuse me, I’m going to retire for the night. You should do the same.”

They saw him walking to the back, the only place they hadn’t searched.

They nodded and waited for the right moment to follow without calling too much attention.

***

“Now, now,” the man clicked his tongue at Adam’s flinch, the straight razor in his hand shining menacingly in the bright light of the bathroom, “You’re gonna be very still for me, baby, or I’m gonna go get another drink for you.”

Adam swallowed, squirming as the guy held both his wrists in one hand no problem to stop him from standing up shakily and stumbling away in his muzzy state.

He wasn’t much bigger than Adam but he wasn’t breaking a sweat pinning him to the bathroom countertop where he’d lathered Adam’s face against his will and started shaving him.

He’d made a mistake accepting the creep’s offer of taking him to the restroom when he felt so lightheaded his legs wouldn’t work. He should’ve looked for his friends, waited for them to take him home to sleep it off.

He didn’t even have his phone anymore to call them, Mike had taken it and turned it off for them ‘not to be disturbed’.

Adam wanted to punch him and run the fuck away but he couldn’t even scream, not loud enough to be heard.

He’d tried and no one had come.

He knew pleading this was all the man had in store for him was wishful thinking.

“Chin up,” the man smiled, “So much better already, why would you hide that pretty face with all this hair?”

He closed his eyes and obeyed because what else was he supposed to do with a fucking knife near his neck?

He still flinched again when a thumb caressed his newly shaven skin right beneath his cheekbone, tried pushing him away even though it only made him dizzier and he didn’t have strength to get him not even an inch off of him.

The guy shook his head at him, picked a prescription bottle from one of the drawers and pocketed it.

He washed Adam’s face and dried it gently, mindful of the irritated and warm skin.

Adam wanted to throw up so bad but not even those muscles seemed to work.

“Plea-Please…” he stuttered, struggling with everything he had in him but not managing to slow them down one bit as the man dragged him back to the bedroom and tossed him onto the bed.

His chest heaved, his hands clenching as he tried to get himself up only for his arms to buckle and his back to fall back down on the mattress.

He cried out, tears springing from his eyes when his attacker straddled his hips and pinched his nose to force him to open his mouth and poured more champagne down his throat.

He made a gurgling, gasping noise, almost choking on it.

“I won’t—“ he whispered, desperate, “I won’t tell—“

What he actually wanted to say was that he’d just leave and wouldn’t call the cops or tell anyone what happened but even uttering three words together took so much effort he didn’t bother pretending he could say all that.

He hoped the guy would understand and let him go.

“You’re gonna be nice and quiet when I get back, baby, you are,” he promised darkly, “I’m gonna get your noisy friends out of here so we can have fun.”

He left Adam alone just like that.

Adam turned his head; his phone was right there on the bedside table. He could get it—he had to.

He crawled to the middle of the king-sized bed, every inch his knees and arms battled to move forward feeling like a mile, and fell.

He couldn’t get his limbs to respond again, no matter how hard he tried.

He couldn’t even feel his wedding ring anymore, had Mike taken that away too?

He told himself it was still there on his finger, told himself he could get through this.

He had to.

***

Adam was pliant and loose between his arms when he went back to him.

He pulled the talented, beautiful pop singer up to take off his Nirvana t-shirt and kissed him, his hands holding his waist possessively as he kept him in his lap.

His lips were soft and docile, opening up to him with the smallest of prods so he could taste and map the inside of his mouth. He was warm and sweet there just like he was everywhere, he discovered, trailing nips and kisses down his neck and lingering on his collarbone and shoulder before latching on to his nipple until it went rigid under his touch.

His hands traveled up and down Adam’s body, gripping his nape and tangling in his hair whenever he gave him another deep kiss, smacking his lips as he licked Adam’s spit greedily off them.

Adam was making hushed, breathy, pretty little noises for him—half-formed pleas and curses, maybe, and he’d been right.

It couldn’t even be compared with any of his fantasies and he had plenty of those.

“I wouldn’t have let you get these if you were mine,” he murmured, breath ghosting over Adam’s upper chest tattoos, “You’d be bare and untouched, just for me to mark.”

He pressed his hard length on Adam’s clad groin, the friction and his gasping doing wonders to get his arousal to climb higher and higher until he couldn’t wait anymore and pushed his striking lover down to get rid of his shoes and skintight jeans.

Adam had white silk boxers underneath, hugging his thighs and his hips just right and making his mouth water.

He looked like the most perfect, debauched angel he could ever ask for.

He leaned down, forcing Adam’s legs apart with firm hands around the fleshiest part of his thighs and his thumbs teasing the valley between his cheeks just right, and breathed him in.

He pressed his nose against the fabric, memorizing Adam’s musk right where it was stronger and groaned as the slender man whimpered.

He flipped Adam over abruptly after unzipping his pants, drunk in every way Adam felt against him, and rearranged him quickly on the bed so he could press down on him and nest his cock right where it was going to be buried not long afterward.

Adam moaned nonsensically and breathed heavily, trapped beneath him and gasping into the pillow until he gripped him by the hair and tilted his head back.

“Does your wife play with your perky little ass?” he asked huskily, licking from Adam’s nape to the side of his neck  up to his ear, hands groping Adam’s buttocks lewdly, “She should, huh, look how much you love it, my gorgeous baby.”

***

‘The back’ as their employer had cheerfully referred to was almost another apartment, with a cozy living room and several rooms down the hall that started from it.

There were people fucking in some of them and that was pretty awkward to come to but James closed every door they opened in search of their friend with a light “sorry! Wrong room!” and carried on.

The last one was clearly the master suite and it was oddly enough the only one partly open.

He wasted no time in barging in, his long legs racing to Adam’s aid even before his brain made sense of the scene before them.

He plucked the man from Adam, gripping him by the neck and shoving him against the nearest wall.

He was glad he did when the guys split between hunching beside Adam and staying by his side as backup and Mickey couldn’t get his friend to talk or react at all.

He was just lying there, almost naked, eyes glazed over as his mouth was slightly parted.

His lips were rosy pink and his skin was littered with red marks.

James’ temper snapped.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” James spit out, punching the dude right on his windpipe when he tried squirming out of his grip, “What did you give him, you piece of shit?”

Matt was already a step ahead of him, waving a bottle of Rohypnol in front of him right before socking the man square in the jaw.

Jesse kicked his legs from under him and he went down, glaring at them as if trying to put them all six feet under with just a look.

“I could sue all your asses,” he hissed angrily, “This is my house and you’re assaulting me—“

“Shut it!” James made him, giving him what was going to be one hell of a black eye, “You were going to rape our friend, _that_ ’s assault! You say as much as a peep about this and _we_ are going to put you so far behind bars all your money won’t save you, you got it?”

“Leave it to us,” PJ told him, gesturing with his head toward the bed where Adam needed him more than this jackass deserved to be punched until he couldn’t see the light of day.

“Hey, buddy, hey,” he soothed as Adam swayed where Matt was keeping him up, cupping his face so Adam’s unfocused eyes would fix on him at least a bit. God, the sick fuck had even shaven Adam’s stubble, he couldn’t believe it, “We’re getting you out of here, okay? We’re just going to put your clothes back on first, hang on.”

Adam just blinked at him, completely limp in his arms as they worked together to slip him into his jeans and t-shirt and fished for his sneakers.

They could hear the cries coming from the man but they were almost a comforting background noise, James’ gut still ice cold after realizing just what was happening to their dear friend and what else he was going to go through had they actually believed the sicko, believed Adam was simply cheating on Behati and nothing sketchy was going on.

There were tear tracks on Adam’s cheeks and James had never once in his life wanted to kill someone as much as he did in that moment.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here or I swear to God this son of a bitch isn’t making it,” Jesse prompted, voicing his own thoughts, “Need any help?”

“He’s—he’s _mine_ ,” the man gasped pitifully from the ground, face bloody, while James was picking Adam up.

“You come anywhere near him again and I’ll kill you,” he threatened.

“We all will,” Jesse amended, kicking him one last time for good measure.

They nodded and walked out briskly with James in the middle, Adam cradled snugly against his chest. He had to keep his head in a hand like he was a baby; his best friend was completely paralyzed and would slip from his arms unless he constantly shifted his hold on him.

There were oddly no cellphones or cameras waiting for them as they made for the exit and he couldn’t help thinking this whole thing had been orchestrated exactly for the event they’d just barely managed to stop.

He wished he’d listened to his gut when he noticed the way the man leered at his friend but he hadn’t.

***

“Jesse?” she stood up, her phone close to her ear, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for him to go on, “What is it? Tell me.”

She had nightmares about this sort of thing every now and then, about getting a call to inform her Adam had been on an accident, and the easy conversation she was sharing with Miranda died ever since she picked up and noticed how shaken their friend sounded.

“Are you guys okay?” she pressed, “Is Adam—“

“ _The dude we were playing for_ ,” Jesse cut in, seething, “ _He fucking roofied Adam, Bee. We got him out in time, but it’s pretty bad._ ”

She gasped, covering her mouth with a hand.

She almost didn’t feel Miranda gently getting her to sit down again.

“Can I talk to him?” she asked, “How far away are you?”

“ _He can’t talk_ ,” Jesse answered, voice tight, “ _We’ll be there in fifteen_.”

“Just put him on the phone, I want to talk to him,” she demanded.

She heard their voices and then just soft, uneven breathing in her ear.

She wiped her face and smiled as if Adam were already home, safe by her side again.

“Babe, hi,” she said, “You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

Her husband whimpered but didn’t say anything back—couldn’t say anything back. She soothed him as much as she could for a couple more minutes, hanging up and letting Miranda pull her into a hug as she shed a few more tears.

She saw Blake hovering close too, a concerned frown wrinkling his face.

“Sweetheart, is Adam alright?” Miranda asked, “Do you need anything, what can we do?”

She shook her head, accepting the tissue Miranda handed her.

She didn’t even think about asking them to leave. Adam and she had grown so fond of hanging out with them, there was no doubt in her mind that she could trust them with this.

“Adam… he was…” she took a deep breath. If she couldn’t even say it, she wouldn’t be able to help her husband. She had to be strong, “He was almost raped tonight.”

“No,” Blake breathed out. By the terrified look on his face, Behati knew he believed her despite of what he was saying, “No, no, that’s not—he was fine! He was just texting me a while ago!”

He seemed to pale then and crumbled onto one of the armchairs with his face in his hands.

Miranda went to him immediately, sitting on the armrest to card a hand through his hair.

She didn’t have time to ask anything, hearing the gate opening and rushing to greet them.

***

PJ opened the door with a grim nod, stepping aside to let James carry Adam inside.

The second James left him on the couch, Behati kneeled and clung to his neck and kissed the side of his face, lingering on his temple and nuzzling his ear as she held him tight.

He didn’t move a muscle, just blinked at her and gasped brokenly.

She broke apart just slightly, enough to take one of his hands and put it to her lips for a moment.

“Can you take him upstairs? I want him to be comfortable,” she asked, not sure if she should look at Blake or James so she looked up at them both, “Who knows how long it’s going to be until it wears off.”

“I got him,” James assured, scooping Adam back up gently and taking the stairs slowly with Jesse in tow.

Blake bit his lip, looking rather sheepish, but she’d let Miranda find out what that was about.

She had Adam to worry about.

She stayed behind for a bit, stared at the rest of the guys for some sort of explanation.

“We performed and it was cool until we decided to stick around I guess,” Matt ventured, “Next thing we knew, Adam wasn’t anywhere and this dude kept telling us he was sleeping with someone so we should leave.”

“We knew he wouldn’t though so we stayed and found him,” Mickey filled in, making her smile a little.

She kissed them both on the cheek, thanking them, and bid Miranda and Blake good night.

***

She spent the night with Adam’s head in her lap, watching every small twitch and listening to every little noise he made.

It wasn’t until way past dawn that her husband started to stir, burrowing into her middle as she kneaded the sides of his head with both hands to comfort him.

It worked when he was too stiff after rehearsing for too long or too hyped after a concert. She hoped it’d work just as fine this time, too.

“Behati,” he whispered, looking up at her with hazy eyes.

She smiled, relieved, and bent down to kiss his damp forehead.

She stayed close but he still had trouble lifting his hand to cup her cheek, his movements slow and clumsy and his breathing turning ragged with the effort.

“Welcome back,” she said, leaning into his touch, “Take it easy, baby, please.”

His breath hitched and he stared at her with a blank look, snapping out of it to hide his face in her belly and sobbing quietly.

She rocked them both back and forth, back and forth, until Adam calmed down enough to look at her again.

“’M sorry,” he mumbled, stifled, “’M so sorry.”

“Adam,” she spoke, serious. She really hoped he wasn’t worried about her being mad for cheating on her of all things; he’d been _drugged_ , there’d been nothing consensual about it therefore no blame on him, “It wasn’t your fault. We’re okay.”

His brow trembled as he tried to stop crying. “I… I let him,” he said, his voice small, as if he’d had a choice in the matter.

“Baby, no,” she cooed, shaking her head.

This time she did catch his reaction to the pet name, his wide eyes and faraway look and the slight stiffness of his still too-loose frame.

She made a mental note not to use it for as long as her husband needed her not to.

She nuzzled his nose and tried to convince him it hadn’t been his fault at all.

It was hard. His memories were jumbled; he didn’t remember the performance or that he’d been roofied, just recalled being in bed with someone that he couldn’t get off of him because his body felt too heavy and wouldn’t move.

It took a long while to explain it to him and even then he looked confused.

Behati waited a little bit longer to help Adam into a bath so he could walk leaning on her shoulder.

He was still a woozy mess of uncoordinated limbs and sluggish moves when she took him back to bed in clean boxers and soft pajama bottoms. She kept the room dark and quiet to help with his headache, not daring to give him anything for it with the drug still on his system.

She got him to drink almost a whole bottle of water before he dozed again, his stomach too upset to tolerate anything else, clinging to her waist and burrowing into her chest.

She reached for some juice and crackers Miranda had left by the bed, thankful for her insight, and fell asleep.

It’d been a long, god-awful night.

They needed the rest.


	28. car accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Major character death.
> 
> ETA: yes, this has Adam/Behati in it. If you don't like it, bite me.

It was another late night on set.

Blake had joked, said a couple of things out of line and didn’t apologize for any of it, the usual.

He still felt mighty awkward knocking on Adam’s trailer when his driver reported sick and Carson was long gone.

“Hey, buddy,” he greeted, fiddling with his wedding ring, “You mind giving me a ride home?”

It was either Adam or a cab and he kinda felt like he deserved to get robbed paying a cab to the other side of town for some of the stuff he’d said to the front man earlier.

Still, Adam grinned instead of scowling—not that he ever got mad at the shit that left Blake’s mouth sometimes.

He instantly relaxed and dropped his arms to his sides.

“Of course not, you idiot,” he replied, locking the door and already running in front of Blake in the blink of an eye, “Chop, chop, Bigfoot! Let’s get outta here.”

Blake shook his head at him, amused and amazed that a grown man like Adam could be so freaking adorable and still had the energy of a four year-old at midnight.

He followed Adam with his eyes, body a lot slower than Adam’s lithe one, and caught up with him in the parking lot.

“You wanna grab dinner too?” his friend asked, keys jiggling a bit as he opened the fancy car of the day which was the Aston Martin, smile making his eyes all crinkly in the corners.

“Want me to pay you with food?” Blake teased, hopping into the passenger seat and trying to fold his big frame in a way that was mildly comfortable, “Fine. Man, you’re cheap.”

Adam chuckled and leaned down to fix his seat so it’d be farther behind and leave more space for Blake’s long legs, clicking his tongue when Blake grumbled about sport cars and their uselessness.

“You don’t appreciate the fine things in life,” Adam quipped, “That’s not my fault.”

***

Adam was a good driver, a bit hyperactive maybe but he burned the extra energy he had in every red light and slow street tapping his hands on the wheel and laughing when Blake failed to recognize almost every tune he played, the radio set on probably the lowest volume to allow them to talk and joke with each other.

The light was green when they crossed the intersection almost half-way to Blake’s place so they didn’t see the car that seemed to get out of nowhere.

The burly truck collided right on Adams’s side, sending the much lighter and expensive sport car flying even before the air bags could finish filling.

They landed upside down with a horrid screeching sound that was only partly muted by the frantic rush of blood in Blake’s ears.

It happened so fast and yet he could swear he saw the whole thing in slow motion; the truck hitting them head on and Adam gasping and yelping as they went careering sideways first and got propelled off the pavement later.

He couldn’t say if he made a sound too.

For the longest moment, he was too shocked to even breathe—or maybe that was the seatbelt, digging painfully into his neck and chest as he hung from what was the roof of the car instead of the bottom.

“Adam?” he slurred as soon as he could snap out of it, blinking blood off of his eyes, “You okay there?”

When Adam didn’t reply, he took a shuddering breath that seemed to rattle his bones with how bad it hurt but he endured it and gingerly turned his head to the side to look at the younger man.

There was a big shard of glass poking out of Adam’s side, looked like it was cutting him in half, and Adam’s once black and white stripped tee/sweater—fuck if Blake knew what it was called exactly—was mostly dark red with blood.

Blake inhaled sharply and turned hastily to the opposite side, choking on his own vomit that he couldn’t say whether was because of the bump in the head he’d taken or from seeing Adam impaled like that.

The younger man’s head was hanging unnaturally listless and his side of the car was so crumpled from the hit Blake couldn’t see Adam’s right leg.

“Adam,” he croaked, shutting his eyes tight for a second before turning to watch his friend again, “Can you hear me?”

He didn’t have much hope for Adam to open his eyes in the state he was in—he only hoped help would be quick enough to save them both and the distant sirens he could already hear were heartening.

He was going to believe they were going to be okay because they were. This couldn’t be the end of them.

They were going to be okay.

They were going to laugh about this soon, probably as soon as Blake could joke about the whole thing being Adam’s fault.

Adam surprised him, eyes fluttering open and arms clumsily trying to remove the odd pressure in his middle before Blake barked at him to stay still.

“You’re—you’re hurt, buddy, so don’t move,” he told the front man more gently this time, watching Adam’s chest seize and hearing him gasping for a breath that he didn’t seem capable of catching, “Just stay with me, alright? Help is on the way.”

“Blake,” Adam whispered, turning to him with a pained gasp.

There was blood oozing out of a wound on the top of his head too and Blake tried hard no to react to it—it wasn’t that hard, considering he’d already seen the worst.

Seeing Adam so badly wounded was the most awful thing he’d ever witnessed. He couldn’t wait for them to make it out of there.

“Are—“ Adam wheezed, his breath sounding wet and labored. Blake could see his stomach muscles unusually still as he battled to get the next bit of air in, “Are you hurt too?”

“I’ll be fine,” Blake said, “Don’t talk, okay? Just focus on staying awake.”

He wasn’t sure if Adam was agreeing and taking it easy by staying quiet and closing his eyes or not but it freaked him out not too long afterward.

“Stay with me, buddy,” he urged, pleading, “You gotta keep your eyes open for me, Adam, c’mon.”

The sirens were almost there by the time Adam listened and stared at Blake again.

“I-It hurts,” he stammered weakly, making Blake’s heart pound even faster in desperation, “Blake, I—“

“Shh, you’re gonna be okay, I promise,” Blake cut in, his own voice too wrecked to be convincing, “Just hang in there a little bit longer.”

Adam stammered something that sounded like his wife’s name and didn’t close his eyes again but the light in them shut down in a way that made something snap inside Blake’s chest.

“Adam, no,” he begged, distressed, squirming in his seat, “Stay with me, please.”

There were finally people outside of the car, working to get them out without hurting them more, but Blake hardly heard the fuss.

He kept pleading for Adam to answer, stretching out a hand to touch his friend’s neck and search for a pulse when nothing happened.

His fingers found nothing but clammy, grimy skin. He fumbled to get the seatbelt off of him and fell heavily on his shoulder, grunting as he crawled to Adam’s side.

He was numb to his own pain but he felt the churn of dread in his stomach no problem when Adam still didn’t listen.

He started screaming, cupping Adam’s bloody and limp head in his shaky hands.

The last thing he felt was a prickle in his arm, then dark swallowed him.

***

Carson was sitting at his bedside when he jerked awake, stopped him from tripping off the hospital bed in his haste to go out of the room and look for Adam because he wasn’t there with him and he _should_ , he should, he couldn’t be—it had to be a bad dream.

He swore he wasn’t going to be so mean the following day on the show, that he was sneakily going to smooch the little guy until he felt better.

Except he knew deep down this wasn’t a nightmare. The void inside him that seemed to keep bleeding despite the rest of his wounds were numb and cared for told him as much.

He tried to remember the last thing he’d said to Adam. Was it a joke? Probably. He could still hear his giggles, could remember thinking it wasn’t even that funny while chortling with him, feeling very pleased with himself.

Carson shook his head, guiding him back onto the pillows. His face was wet with tears that still leaked from his eyes. “The driver was drunk. Adam—he didn’t make it, Blake, I’m so sorry. They said he didn’t suffer, that it was quick.”

But he did. Blake had been there. He knew better.

He couldn’t say it. He started weeping instead and accepted the comfort Carson gave him after standing up. He could feel him sobbing against him too and he held him with the arm that didn’t have the IV in it.

He always thought he’d die before Adam, before Miranda, before pretty much everybody that mattered to him. His doctor bitched enough about his cholesterol for him to believe that.

And yet.

He stumbled to the hall the first second Carson turned his back on him to get them both some water, nothing but a flimsy gown around his bulk without caring he’d flash people with how ridiculously short it was on him.

He could hear soft crying just outside and he’d never hear her doing those sounds but he didn’t need to.

He knew it was Behati, could feel it in his gut.

She was clinging to James as the guitarist sobbed into her hair, cradling her head desperately against his neck. Jesse was bowing over beside them, both of his hands covering his face as he seemed to try and keep the wails in.

Adam’s mom and one of his brothers were there too, looking about as shaken as Blake felt but being quieter about it.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand harshly and just stood there on his bare feet.

A nurse approached him and berated him for ripping the IV, dabbing the blood that was dripping from his hand and bandaging it.

Carson gripped his shoulder but didn’t force him back inside the room and Blake was thankful for that.

The pain didn’t get easier to bear with everybody around hurting too but he needed to be with them, needed to remember they knew how much Adam meant to him despite all the time he’d spent talking shit about him.

“He called out for you,” Blake told Behati in the first impasse of heart-wrenching silence they got, when she looked up at him and nodded as if telling him she wasn’t mad at him for being alive, “His last breath, his last thought were for you.”

“I know,” she cried, wiping her cheeks with thin trembling fingers as she leaned her head on James’ shoulder and let him hold her tighter, “I felt him.”

Blake swallowed, feeling like he’d prematurely run out of tears when he had a sea of hurt still inside him.

He hadn’t felt this kind of heartache since he was fourteen and his brother died in a car accident too.

He knew back then he would never be ready to go through that again.

And yet.

***

Miranda arrived in the early morning, after Blake had been forced to get some rest and threatened to be put under if he didn’t behave.

He’d only settled down when he heard the driver was dead and so was his copilot.

Blake had been the only one to survive the crash. He didn’t blame the poor soul who paid for their partner’s mistake with their life but at least some things were fair and the fucker who’d taken Adam’s life wouldn’t be around no more to kill anybody again.

It all still felt like a dream, breathing and moving and existing in a world without Adam in it. He was watching everything through a veil of shock and grief, he knew, but it amazed him that such a thing was possible.

It was too soon to make jokes about only the great dying young. It’d probably be too soon forever.

 _Give him back_ , was the only thing Blake could think about, could utter to Death or God or whoever was listening, _don’t take him, not like this._

Miranda shushed him and held him to her chest until he was finally unconscious again.

***

The familiar shape of Adam clad in ripped skinny jeans and a white tee was there when he opened his eyes again or at least when he felt like he was doing it.

He couldn’t move from the bed. The whole room was bathed in white light, turning everything bright and warm.

Adam smiled at him, a sad little thing that reached his eyes making them wet and shiny.

“This really sucks, doesn’t it?” he said. He looked younger and didn’t have all his tattoos on him. It looked like only the ones who had meaning had stuck and Blake was willing to bet the one he shared with his wife was still there, “I’m sorry you’re going through this again. You don’t deserve it.”

Blake blinked, dazed.

In the dream, he was still able to cry.

It felt good, liberating, and Adam was there right next to him looking alive and whole and as gorgeous as ever.

He didn’t want to wake up.

“Maybe I do,” he rasped, watching as Adam crossed his arms and ducked his head, “Lost two brothers in a lifetime. Can’t be coincidence.”

He could practically feel Adam holding back from reaching him and opened his arms to coax him not to, to step into one last embrace even if it wasn’t real and he was far away in a place Blake couldn’t follow him to.

Adam kissed his cheek and fell into his arms, let Blake smooch him behind his ear without making a fuss for the first and the last time.

“Not everything is about you, jackass,” Adam reminded him lightly, stepping out of the hug with a spin and cocking his head like a bird as the lights all around them turned blinding, “I gotta go. Still have Bee to say goodbye to.”

Blake choked on both his breath and his tears, nodding. “I’m gonna miss you, buddy. I love you.”

Adam saluted him playfully, his edges already fuzzy as Blake squinted to keep looking at him.

“Bye, Blake. I'll see you when I see you.”


	29. sick show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: **rape**.
> 
> This is... really fucked-up. I've been in a dark place lately. Hopefully in a couple of weeks I'll be able to write happier things ~~and some of the prompts that are still glaring at me to fill them~~.
> 
> Also, Adam and Blake are married to Behati and Miranda so you know, if that bothers you...

It’s Blake who gets knocked out first.

He feels the muzzle of the gun pressing with bruising force on his temple and he stands still, raises his arms up, the whole shebang. Adam yelps beside him and seems frozen in place like a deer in the headlights; he doesn’t even protest or moves much as Blake shields him from the thugs with his body and waits for them to state their business.

He’s hoping they’ve just been jumped on by some junkies in dire need of money for a fix and sadly easy access to a gun.

They’re not.

The gang close in on them and the closest one swings the grip of the gun right on the side of his face and makes Blake see flashing white before dropping like a feeble twig against the wind.

He hears Adam’s scream, feels him softening the worse of Blake’s fall by catching his upper body in his lap, and blacks out.

***

They’re alone in a dingy, bad lit room when he comes to.

Adam smiles down at him and looks unharmed, thank God, so Blake thinks it probably won’t hurt to stay in his lap a little longer. They’re lying on some god-awful mattress, so thin he kind of feels the concrete underneath and grimy with things he’d rather not think about, but Adam’s okay and Blake’s going to keep a cool head to get them both out of this.

There’s only the one window and the glass is broken but there are bars in it and not even Adam is slim enough to go through them. The door’s hinges are rusty but seem sturdy all the same and Blake runs out of ways out to look at as he’s palming his jacket and confirming that yeah, they took his phone.

“Don’t move so much, dumbass,” Adam chides him, his fingers drawing soft patterns on the unmarred side of his head. The other feels swollen and sticky but Blake ignores the sting and presses closer to Adam’s middle, probably smearing his once pristine sweater with blood, “They got you pretty bad.”

“I’m fine,” he retorts, lifting his hand to prod at his wound and check there’s nothing broken, “How long was I out?”

“A few minutes, I don’t know,” Adam bites his lip, looking around for a second before adding, “We’re just a couple of blocks from the studio. They took our wallets, our watches, our phones. I’d scream for help but I don’t think it’ll help any; it’s too late.”

Blake nods gingerly. He agrees; if no one heard the initial scuffle then it’s unlikely there’s anyone out there at all and the Security detail of the show is long gone. They usually shoo the guys home when they stay long at night, since they don’t get paid overtime and have families to go back to.

Saying that Blake regrets that now is an understatement.

“You hurt?” he asks gruffly, sitting up.

Nothing spins out of place even though the throbbing in his head gets worse.

He counts it as a win.

Adam gazes at him in worry but shakes his head. It’s only then Blake notices he’s been pressing that cashmere and expensive-looking blue sweater he was wearing earlier to the bump on his temple; he lets it go, leaving the rumpled fabric on the mattress, and flexes the fingers of the hand he was using.

Blake is willing to bet they’ve not been here for the few minutes Adam mentioned. His friend has that frantic look in his eyes the animals he hunts get when they notice him but it’s too damn late; he’s in shock, breathing and exuding fear and nervous energy.

Blake wants to get him out of here yesterday.

“Well, at least you’re not bleeding anymore,” Adam points out, that small hopeful smile poking through again, “Luckily for us, it looks like you have a hard skull.”

Blake chuckles. “That I do,” he concedes, “They told you what they want?”

Adam shakes his head again, for once not shying away from him when Blake checks with his own hands if he’s okay or not. His fingers are firm and steady as they feel Adam’s tiny bones and muscles through his white tee and when Adam only sighs and lets him do as he pleases, he convinces himself they haven’t laid a finger on him yet.

Just the idea brings a sour taste to his mouth—or maybe that’s a bit of puke or acid in his mouth, he’s not gonna stop and analyze it.

“I offered them money but they laughed,” his friend confides, still not complaining about Blake’s hands lingering on him, “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Blake looks down at him and smiles, trying to be reassuring. “You did good. We just have to wait now, hope they let us go.”

Fat chance of that, he’s aware of that, but Adam doesn’t need to know what he thinks.

He pulls Adam to his chest and holds him to ease the telltale tremors of adrenaline wearing off.

***

Blake can see the four of them are high as a kite when they finally pay them a visit. They stagger in, snickering and pushing each other, and they have this bright crazy look in their eyes that only comes with good acid or whatever shit kids are doing these days.

He can’t tell how old they are because of the ridiculous and creepy masks they have on but they sounded young back in the parking lot.

He tries not to feel too bad about his sheer inability to stop them. He had his guard down, they had guns; it was all in all an unfair fight.

It doesn’t work that well, especially not when they rip Adam from his arms and point not one but two guns at him to make sure he won’t interfere.

He clenches his jaw, doesn’t waste time and energy in closing his hands in fists to get them numb and shaky. Adam’s back collides with the chest of one of them as he flails, squeals like a piglet who’s about to get butchered for about two seconds before the douche puts a hand over his mouth and leans to breathe behind his ear.

Adam stops moving, pretty much stops breathing too. Blake holds his breath right along with him, doesn’t like where this is going at all.

“You’re gonna strip for us, don’t you, little whore?” another taunts, making Blake’s heart plummet to about a mile underground, “Make it good or we’re putting holes in your buddy bud, you hear? Entertain us, bitch.”

They let him go and push him to the center of the room just a couple of feet away from Blake. The place is small and they’re cramped but they apparently still want a good view of Adam slowly but shakily taking his clothes off for them; the t-shirt goes first and then his skin-tight ripped jeans.

The lead man’s fingers are curling on the waistband of his boxers when Blake decides to take his chances and try to reason with these nutjobs.

He’s stopped before he can even speak, nudged with the muzzle on his nape. “Oi, this old hick thinks he has dibs on that ass, fucking look at him.”

They all laugh and keep joking about it. Adam shoots him a look, confused and alarmed, but he calms down startlingly fast with just one warm look from Blake that lets him know it’s not like that; he’s worried, wants to stop what he hopes is just pointless humiliation instead of something he’d rather not consider, not just yet.

“Tell you what,” the guy who was holding Adam to him says, gripping Adam’s chin when his friend is naked as the day he was born except for the ink now etched permanently on his skin. Blake tries to keep his eyes from his waist up but he still can’t help but think how little Adam looks, how vulnerable despite of his toned body and tattoos, “You get to pick; one of us or your bestie right here.”

Adam gulps, his eyes darting from him to the man addressing him as his brow furrows. He’s trembling a little but standing with his back straight and his shoulders back and Blake has to give it to him; he might be scared out of his mind but he’s facing this head on anyway. “Pick for what?”

“Ever had his dick up your ass?” the thug asks, ignoring him completely, and Blake both sees and feels the cringe that seems to rattle every inch of Adam’s body as things go exactly where he’d been dreading they would.

He caresses his wedding ring with his thumb, silently telling his wife he’s sorry for what he’s about to do.

He mouths ‘me’ and ‘pick me’ several times because he knows he’s the better option Adam has of getting through this. There’s no telling what kind of diseases these fuckers have and even them breathing over Adam and touching him with their filthy hands has Blake hissing in wrath and concern.

He never wanted this but if he’s the best option Adam has, then he’s going to do it.

Adam lowers his head, his right hand holding the pinky and ring finger of his other hand as he begs. “Please, no, we—“

“Shut up!” another one of them roars, “You picking or do I get to fuck you so hard you’ll grow a pussy?”

There’s a beat and then Adam chooses. “Blake!” he cries, “I pick Blake!”

He sighs with relief when they all nod to each other and let Adam close the distance between them.

Blake lowers him to the bed gently, fingers loosely grasping his bony hips, and guides him to straddle his thighs as he leans in for a kiss. Adam’s breath hitches with the first brush of their lips and he closes his eyes, hoping Adam relaxes against him sooner rather than later.

Adam’s lips are soft like a woman’s and there’s the lingering taste of tobacco in his mouth, tangy but minty enough to let Blake seek his tongue willingly. He steadies the back of Adam’s head with his fingers, tugging at the short strands of hair he can reach the same way Miranda does that always drives him crazy.

It’s bittersweet, thinking about her right now, but it works; Adam shivers and opens up to the kiss, his eyelids finally fluttering close to get lost in it the way Blake needs him to so this isn’t as much of a torture as the motherfuckers around them want it to be.

He glides his lips over Adam’s more insistently, the contact turning heated about two seconds after his friend starts responding, and strokes his spine with just the ghost of nails to get him to arch against him and grip his shirt in two handfuls.

It’s enough to have his dick stirring in his pants. He feels Adam reacting positively to him too and inhales with relief through his nose, lips still slotted right on top of his smaller ones.

There’s a shot that makes them both jump and stop. Blake weaves his arms around Adam and curls protectively around him as much as he can, chest heaving with panic as he searches for wounds in his bare body.

There’s none but it’s clear they’re not happy.

“Stop sucking face and fuck him!”

He hears the click of a safe being removed as Adam’s fingers hesitate on his zipper, button already taken care of. Blake cants his hips up a little, aiming to be encouraging, and Adam takes him out as if he’d been doing it for years, closing a spit-wet hand around his length to jerk him to full hardness and twisting his wrist just right to have blood rushing south.

It’s embarrassing how fast he gets there between that and Adam’s index finger on his slit. He grunts in both reluctant pleasure and annoyance when they bark at them to get on with it instead of stopping to get Blake out of his clothes.

He manhandles Adam to his hands and knees, blanketing his smaller body with his as he mouths his nape and the space behind his ear he’s used to smooching in a tacit plea for forgiveness. Adam tilts his head to the side just enough to look at him and nods slightly, giving him as much as a go ahead as he can considering the circumstances.

Blake wishes he knew how to make this easier for his friend, he truly desperately does but there’s nothing he can do except lick his hand hastily and hope some of the moisture is still there when he grips himself and presses the tip against Adam’s puckered hole.

He hopes it’s like ripping a band-aid and hurts less if you do it quickly so he snakes his other arm around Adam’s slim hips and slams right in.

Adam outright _shrieks_ , pained and loud, and goes stiff beneath him but his ass clamps down on Blake so unbelievably _good_ he has to swallow down a grunt. He’s so tight and hot inside Blake hardly notices the dryness and has to grit his teeth not to make a sound as he grips Adam’s shoulder and picks up a brutal rhythm in the hopes of making this as brief for Adam as he can.

The delicious and hot pull of orgasm is already coiling low in his gut, promising him he’s going to come so hard he’s going to touch the sky, but he pushes the guilt that goes with it to the back of his head to do what he has to and pounds Adam until he’s constantly gasping and sobbing, tense but staying still to take his cock like it’s something he actually wants instead of being forced to accept.

Then his hips falter and he loses his hold on Adam’s hips, hand sweaty and clumsy as his whole body chases release. When he gets it back and resumes his pace, the angle changes and so do Adam’s upset breathy noises; they get louder and last longer every time Blake thrusts in and he decides to use the hand gripping Adam’s shoulder to start pushing him onto his cock because he’s that far gone and if he at least doesn’t give Adam a short unsatisfying orgasm then he’s going to feel like the worst scum on Earth.

He lets go of Adam’s hip and feels his way to his half-hard member, jacking him off in counterpoint to their fucking just like Adam did for him, does it quick and dirty until Adam chokes on a moan for the first and last time of the night and goes utterly limp beneath him, falling down to his elbows with his ass still up for Blake to fuck into.

His hole seems to demand Blake to come then, clenching around him until he can’t help the groan that leaves his throat as he empties himself inside of Adam and keeps grinding and rutting against his tight heat mindlessly to ride out the high. Adam cries out in pain again throughout it all and Blake tells himself he’s being forced to do this, that he’d pull out right that second if he could but he’s not so convinced.

Adam lets out a heart-wrenching sob when he pulls out and his head is throbbing but Blake hardly feels that pain; the one thing that aches is his heart, crying out a litany of no’s as Blake watches Adam curl in on his side and shudder.

His eyes automatically go to where his seed is leaking out of him mixed with worrying pink and he feels depraved and awful when he realizes he climaxed hard enough to lose control while making Adam _bleed_.

The pungent smell of sex hangs heavy in the air and Blake sees through the corner of his eyes how their kidnappers tug themselves back inside their pants.

They were literally getting off on Blake fucking _raping_ his best friend.

He wants to tear them apart.

***

They leave after telling them they’re free to go and thanking them for the ‘good show’ in loud mocking tones.

Blake helps Adam get his clothes back on and wraps his jacket around the younger man’s shoulders. He knows his friend isn’t trembling because he’s cold but it makes him feel slightly better to pretend he’s doing something nice for him.

Adam makes it to the entrance of the shabby house with a nasty limp before holding on to the doorframe, his breathing harsh and his face clammy with sweat and probably more than a few tears. Blake’s not going to look close enough to tell, he’s going to give Adam at least that much.

“I—I can’t,” it’s all he can say but it’s enough. Blake hoists him up with a lump in his throat that only grows when Adam settles in his arms meekly, completely trusting, and presses a quiet thank you to the sweaty skin of Blake’s neck.

Adam can’t walk.

Blake fucked him until he couldn’t.

***

Blake needs to get his head checked. Adam needs to—well.

They agree not to go to the hospital and Blake drives them to Adam’s place following his instructions instead, while Adam lies on his side in the backseat and bites back whimpers whenever the streets aren’t smooth enough.

Blake carries him as gently as he can up the stairs to his bedroom and Adam locks himself in the bathroom with the shower running for so long he has time to both creep outside the door listening in case Adam needs him and wash the stench from their ordeal away too. He cleans his cut and puts like ten butterfly stiches in it, doesn’t even count, foregoing icing it because it’s too damn late by now.

He doesn’t have any clothes here but he also has time to wash them and put them in the dryer. He leaves his jacket and his vest off, trotting back to Adam’s bedroom only to discover he’s still in the bathroom.

He can’t help imagining Adam under the spray, simply lying there with his legs hugged to his chest and his face hidden in his knees as the water down the drain goes from red to clear.

He’s probably the last person Adam wants to see right now, he gets that, but instead of going away he knocks on the bathroom door and listens.

The water stops running.

He sighs with relief. Whatever Adam’s doing inside, he’s still there at least.

“Buddy, if you want me to go, I’ll go,” he says, his forehead flushed against the wood, “But you gotta promise me you’ll be alright, that you’ll call someone and won’t be alone.”

He hears uneven footsteps and the door opens.

Adam grips his arms not to fall and Blake can see his legs shaking with the effort of staying upright. He’s wearing clothes that cling too close to his body to be comfortable if you ask Blake but they look worn out and soft at least.

Adam looks small but calm in them and that’s what matters.

“You’re the one with the concussion, you idiot,” Adam reminds him, damp hair plastered to his head, his eyes red and puffy but Blake has already vowed not to mention that, “You’re the one who shouldn’t be alone so stay and let’s deal with this together.”

Blake blinks down at him, tentatively putting his hands on Adam’s waist as he looks closely for any sign of discomfort but there’s nothing, nada, not even a little flinch, and Adam is looking up at him with the same fond but exasperated glint in his eyes he always saves for Blake.

He doesn’t dare believe they get to keep their friendship after this but with Adam acting like this, he almost does.

And he wants to, oh, how he wants to.

“Listen,” Adam murmurs, tucking his head beneath Blake’s chin, “I don’t blame you. I asked you to do it instead of them. I should be thanking you.”

“What? I asked you! Don’t you dare thank me!” Blake retorts, overwhelmed by guilt and disbelief, breaking apart to cup Adam’s face with urgency, “It—it was the only way to make sure they wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Blake, I know,” Adam sighs, almost patiently, blinking slowly before looking at him in the eye, “But you got raped too.”

“Adam! That’s not—“

“You didn’t want it. That’s the definition of rape last time I checked.”

He makes a face, takes Adam to bed carefully to avoid continuing the conversation.

Whether Adam is right or not, Blake still liked it so he doesn’t deserve any thanks or understanding for what he did.

Adam holds on to him like a limpet, chuckling when both of them end up horizontal with Blake’s efforts to put him down.

Adam is on top this time but Blake still can’t believe his friend doesn’t hate him, doesn’t remember what he did with each brush or press of Blake against him.

“Not letting you go, cowboy,” Adam informs him sleepily, curling on his chest with a sigh so deep Blake’s own eyelids droop with just hearing and feeling it, “You’re staying. Your brain might explode if I don’t watch over you.”

Blake finally relaxes and spreads his hands on Adam’s back, holding him close. He counts his blessings because at least he gets to keep this and Adam’s so goddamn important to him he has to make a joke about it most of the time or he risks going nuts with how much he cares about the younger man.

There’s one more thing that’s bugging him. Judging by the way Adam keeps rub-rubbing something over Blake’s shirt as they snuggle together, he’s thinking about the same thing.

“They’ll understand,” he whispers. It’s so easy to sound sure when he’s comforting Adam it should worry him but he embraces it instead and lets his own words soothe him too.

Adam sounds like he wants to believe it as much as Blake does. “Yeah.”

Blake toes off his boots, gets the comforter over them at some point while they talk about everything and nothing.

They fall asleep at the same time light starts coming through the window.


	30. first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy belated birthday, [caro](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Carolina30363/pseuds/Carolina30363)! i hope this is the kind of steamy first time you wanted? sorry if it sucks too much :( i tried.
> 
> explicit sex ahead, in case that's not your thing.

They’d been seeing each other for almost a month, but between their packed schedules and the need to save face pretending they were nothing more than just buds, it was actually the first time Blake got to spend the night at Adam’s house in the hills.

He’d been there a thousand times before, but nothing could come even close to getting under the covers with the gorgeous lead man and holding him close all night. He’d never realized Adam’s shampoo smelled like green apples and a bit of coconut or how soft both his hair and his skin were; Adam liked grooming himself almost to the point of obsession and Blake couldn’t get enough of the feeling of him under his hands, how warm and slim but sinewy he was everywhere, and he’d sworn they wouldn’t make it through the night without finally doing the do and climbing the finals steps in their newly developed relationship.

Adam had snuggled against him until there wasn’t an inch between them, sighing in contentment and humming in approval as Blake’s hands keep wandering on his body, his own hands gripping Blake’s sides tighter as the country singer felt the fan of Adam’s lashes fluttering against the skin of his neck. Adam had moved with a kind of grace that made Blake’s throat go dry and entwined their bare legs, his lips brushing every bit of Blake’s skin he could reach, and that was the last thing he remembered; he’d closed his eyes for a second, at ease like he’d hardly ever been in his life, and when he opened them again it was morning and the bed was empty except for his big old self in it.

It was goddamn stupid, the way his heart clawed its way to his mouth and forced him to hastily throw his clothes back on and take the stairs down two at a time but he did it anyway and found himself in the doorframe of the kitchen, blinking sleep and needless fear from his mind as his eyes fell on Adam’s pert little ass swaying to the beat of one of his many favorite songs.

“Why you gotta be so rude?” Adam sang along, still clad in the same tiny pair of boxer briefs and that loose and threadbare tee he’d slept with that pooled around his frame when Blake held him in such a lovely way that it made Blake never want to take his hands off him, “Don’t you know that I’m human too?”

The stove was on and Adam broke some eggs on the pan as he crooned, his body multitasking between cooking and dancing effortlessly, probably starting on those mean scrambled eggs he always bragged about. Blake watched him quietly, an arm against the doorframe and a big goofy smile on his face, feeling in his core that he’d gone and won the best lottery of them all for being able to have every bit of Adam at the reach of his fingers.

The song was coming to an end but Adam’s body was still thrumming with energy and Blake had just about the perfect thing to help with that. He padded to his boyfriend, embracing him slowly from behind not to startle him and risk Adam burning himself, and peppered his nape with kisses that lingered on the point where neck met shoulder as his hands led Adam’s slim hips to him so he could feel exactly how much Blake had enjoyed his little show.

“Wow, morning to you too, cowboy,” Adam breathed, pressing his body closer to Blake’s and making it really hard for him to hold back from humping him right then and there, “You’re that happy to see me, huh? Nice.”

His buttocks accommodated Blake’s hard-on perfectly when Adam canted his hips just right, back arching and feet widening his posture to make room for his eager lover, and Blake wasted no time in replying with words and gripped Adam’s chin to the side instead so they could kiss hungrily and forget about anything that wasn’t being all over each other for at least a couple of hours.

He chuckled lowly when Adam’s hand scrambled to turn off the fire, his hands snaking under his t-shirt and the legs of his underwear to scratch his skin as he traced a firm path down to his thighs.

It wasn’t the first time he’d touched Adam like this, they’d already shared more than a couple of hurried handjobs after barely crumpling clothes aside to touch and fondle each other like they desperately needed, but it was the first time they finally had time to go all the way and the first time he felt confident enough to stop thinking about the many ways this could go sideways real fast.

Adam moaned into his mouth, tossing his head back the second Blake released his lips to better hear him and relish how the lewd sound went straight to his dick.

“Fuck,” Adam panted and Blake smirked against his neck, holding his hips tighter when he felt his boyfriend’s knees buckling under his ministrations.

“That’s the idea,” he remarked, his voice already hoarse because Adam was apparently so on board with this he’d been grinding against Blake shamelessly since the moment he grabbed him and the little shit didn’t even care where they did it; the kitchen counter was just the place, if they way Adam squirmed between his arms and turned around to jump him and wrap his legs around Blake’s hips was any indication.

“Come _on_ ,” he spurred Blake on when he only took a couple of steps to the side so they wouldn’t be standing in front of the stove anymore, “I’m clean, you’re clean, who needs condoms—“

“We still need a bed,” Blake pointed out, laughing when Adam huffed and looked at him with hooded eyes blown dark with lust. The specks of green Blake loved so much were nothing but a line that told Blake exactly how much the front man loved the fact Blake could hold him up without breaking a sweat. He squeezed Adam’s thighs in his hands, pushing him a little bit higher and making Adam’s breath hitch against his cheek when their groins slid against one another through their clothing, his arms clinging tighter to his neck, “Not fucking you here unless you beg me very prettily and offer to massage my back when I’m done.”

“Jackass,” Adam snorted, failing to bite back a smile since he had to know Blake was too much of a gentleman to fuck him anywhere else for their first time, “I’m begging you for your dick in your fucking dreams.”

Blake grinned, smooching Adam’s cheek as he walked out of the kitchen and towards the stairs, “We’ll see about that when I’m done with you, rock star, we’ll see about that.”

He pushed the door to Adam’s bedroom closed with his foot, not letting the precious cargo in his arms go until he had him sprawled on the same sheets they’d shared the night before. He let Adam get rid of his flannel and jeans, a lump of emotion threatening to stick in his throat when he noticed how shaky Adam’s fingers were, and helped to kick his boxers out of his legs next since he knew the instant he had Adam naked under him there’d be no way he was breaking away from him.

Adam curled his hands on his hips, pushing him towards his parted lips and compelling Blake to kneel on the mattress as he explored his cock with tiny licks on the heavy head, sucking it into his mouth with some trouble that Blake tried to ease kneading Adam’s scalp with gentle fingertips.

“You don’t have to,” he drawled just before Adam ripped a loud grunt out of him, taking him farther in with a stubborn frown, single-minded as he looked up at Blake with his lips stretched full of cock. Just the sight had Blake twitching and aching to wreck Adam’s pretty face, “Fuck, unless you want to, whatever you want, darling.”

Adam kept blowing him with such keen intensity that Blake could only hold on for the ride and grip the back of his boyfriend’s neck as he fucked his mouth to his heart’s content; Adam could only take about half of him inside but his fist around the rest of him and his fingers rubbing his balls more than made up for it.

He stopped just before Blake came, panting harshly after releasing him with a wet pop as if he’d been choking for long minutes as he laid down and took his scant clothing off quickly to spread his legs wantonly for Blake, his chest heaving and his eyes shining as he wiped a mix of saliva and pre-come from his chin.

“I’ve—I’ve never,” he stuttered, ducking his head as he blushed with something other than arousal and Blake understood with a jolt that his little lover had been stalling as he gathered the courage to tell him something that the country star already suspected, “With a guy, y’know, but I want you, I do, I just—“

“Shhh, sweetheart, I know just what you need,” Blake stopped his rambling, gripping Adam’s ankles and brushing his legs all the way up to his thighs as he leaned down and kissed him full on the mouth, using enough tongue to leave Adam pleasantly breathless as he got used to the weight of Blake between his legs, “We’ll figure this out together, we’ll make it good.”

He didn’t say _I’ll be gentle_ , not in those words, but Adam got it anyway and smiled against the corner of his lips, his smaller frame losing most of the tension it’d been accumulating.

“Yeah, okay,” Adam said, his arms gripping Blake’s back still a little too tight; but he was confident he’d be able to fuck that out of him soon enough and the electricity that simply rutting against Adam’s length rouse in him was all he needed to believe he would.

Blake had to take a deep, calming breath to cool his head enough to briefly let go of the beautiful man underneath him to reach for the lube in the nightstand. He dove back in to taste himself again in Adam’s mouth as he rubbed it between his fingers to warm it enough not to startle Adam as he teased the tight ring of muscle he’d only fantasized about.

Adam’s body accepted his first finger easily enough, the pop rocker moaning brokenly at the intrusion, and he was so hot and tight inside Blake had to bite his lip until it stung not to speed things up and just lose himself in his lover already when Adam hoisted a leg up on his back and opened the rest of the way to take it past the second knuckle.

He looked like the sweetest, hottest dream like this and he felt even better. Blake grunted and gritted his teeth, his dick leaking pre-come at the sight.

He crooked his finger curiously as they kissed sloppily, nibbling each other’s bottom lips when the other threatened to break apart, looking for that special place he’d heard about that he would need to find in order to make Adam enjoy this as much as he was going to enjoy fucking him.

He found it with no trouble and Adam’s whole body announced his success to him loud and clear; Adam’s moans went up an octave and his legs parted instinctively so he could keep rubbing him right there, his back arching like a bow as Blake introduced him to a new type of pleasure.

“More,” Adam pleaded more than demanded, not that the southerner would ruin the moment to point that out to his proud boyfriend, and he was already pushing his middle finger in to join the first, gradually beating the resistance of Adam’s inner muscles as he used his thumb to massage him just behind his sack and his other hand to sweep his index finger over his slit and make Adam shudder from head to toe, “Fuck, you’re gonna—you’re gonna make me, _ah!_ —“

Blake was quick to grip the base of Adam’s cock to stop him from coming before the best part, kissing and sucking marks on Adam’s neck as he thrashed beneath him and clenched around his fingers. Apparently he was so sensitive in there that Blake had been a little too close to ruin the cheesy desire he had of making them both finish as close to one another as he possibly could.

“Look at me, Adam,” he rasped, gently beginning to scissor his fingers inside of his boyfriend. Adam did, blinking dazed eyes at him as his blunt nails did their best to graze the skin of Blake’s shoulder blades when the country singer stretched him a little too much, “Try to relax for me, honey, I know you want me inside you. Show it to me now, breathe deep for me.”

“T-Too fast,” Adam spluttered but did as he was told and Blake had to remind himself not to talk too dirty; the last thing he needed was to embarrass his little lover right when he was giving his all to Blake. He doubted Adam would regret it but he wanted nothing but love and gentleness for this time, “T-Too much.”

“Okay,” he murmured softly, kissing Adam’s forehead and nuzzling his face until Adam stopped feeling like a vice around his fingers and he was able to resume pressing the third one in, gently rubbing his rim in circles first, “That’s it, see? Easy.”

Adam made a breathy sharp sound as he tossed his head back onto the pillow, his hips rocking up to meet Blake’s hand just a couple of minutes after he’d gotten his three big fingers in and stroked him mildly, his leg slipping from Blake’s middle to get better leverage to fuck himself on Blake’s fingers; he barely had to do any work, Adam’s body intuitively knew exactly what to do to feel good, and he couldn’t help the groan that rushed out of his throat at how fucking eager Adam was for this, how much he was already enjoying it.

It was just how he’d always thought it would be; Adam felt like he’d been made for Blake to claim him and all the previous lovers they both had before tumbling to bed together were nothing but blurs, hardly existing anymore for them now that they knew how being together was like.

“You’re ready,” Blake breathed, marveled, his forehead sliding a little against Adam’s with how sweaty they both were already.

Adam whimpered in protest when he removed his fingers and Blake coated his member with plenty of lube as fast as he could, fumbling to get a pillow under the small of Adam’s back to make sure he’d hit him just where he needed to. He gripped his dick to line himself up with Adam’s entrance, teasing Adam along his crack with the tip first and appreciating how his boyfriend crossed his ankles on the small of Blake’s back to keep him close, and made sure the younger man wouldn’t cheat and rush things by holding one of his hips firmly as he started to push in oh so very slowly.

He’d never forget the noise Adam made just then; gurgling and completely overwhelmed as the head of Blake’s cock split him in two, Adam’s fingertips digging so deeply into the skin of his shoulders he knew he’d have bruises and dents from it for days afterward.

Adam cried out mostly in pain as he breached him, tears spilling from his eyes every time he blinked. Blake hurried to wipe them with his lips, shushing his boyfriend gently as he thrust inside inch by inch, his body shaking with how much he was holding back to take this slow enough.

He didn’t ask if he should stop, he had the feeling Adam would just swear and somehow flip their positions to impale himself on the rest of Blake’s dick and probably hurt himself in the process.

He was almost all the way in when Adam finally relaxed again and let out a soft, awed ‘ _oh_ ’ that made Blake moan in relief and rush to make the most of whatever it was that had felt good for Adam, joining their hips snugly and panting loudly as he waited for Adam to adjust with almost his whole weight pressing down on him.

“You feel so good around me,” he confessed hotly, “So goddamn _good_ , Adam.”

His lover tried to smile but barely managed, his mouth too occupied hanging open as his inner walls hugged Blake just right. He felt Adam’s cock jerking between them and kissed him fiercely, elated that this obviously felt as great to Adam as it did to him.

“Fuck me, baby,” Adam panted, his hand carding through Blake’s hair as his legs held him tighter, “You got me, c’mon.”

It was all Blake needed to start moving, gently pulling out until only the tip was in before thrusting back in slow and steady, grunting his agreement into Adam’s ear as the front man stammered the prettiest moans for him, all surprise and longing, his fingers tugging Blake’s curls harshly every time the country artist grazed that sweet spot inside him. Adam’s dick bounced up and down between them as they moved together, their skin sliding in all the right places slick with lube and sweat, and Blake opted for gripping Adam’s ass instead of jerking him off since he knew exactly how he looked and sounded when he was close to orgasm and right then he could bet Adam was just too close to risk it.

Adam fucking _keened_ when he dug his fingertips into the firm flesh of his cheek, almost opening him up further to drive into him, and Blake quickened the pace, his hips rocking harder against Adam’s as they both clung tighter to each other and the heat between them crackled like a living thing and smothered them in the best way there was.

Blake had been hopeful, of course he was, but not even his optimistic nature had prepared him for how absolutely incredible making love with Adam was; the harder and faster he drove into his little lover, the harder it was for him to remember why they’d been dancing around each other for years on end when they could’ve been doing _this_ instead.

“Adam,” he groaned, the sweat tickling his back and his brow not even having a chance to cool as he fucked Adam with all he had in him, “I’m gonna—“

His climax was still building, up and up and higher yet; what he meant and couldn’t voice was that he wanted to change it up a little bit. He flung the pillow under Adam’s back off the bed and used both of his hands to spread his ass cheeks firmly, his knees widening his stance to pound Adam harder onto the mattress.

“Yes!” Adam wailed, his legs hooking on Blake’s thighs so he could press in deeper, “Blake, _yes_!”

The bed creaked under them and Blake felt exhaustion creeping on each of his muscles but with every loud and breathy ‘ _oh!_ ’ and ‘ _ahh_ ’ Adam gave him his hips had renewed energy to snap into him until neither of them could speak, could only save whatever breath they had for _this_.

Adam came with a howl, his cock jolting as it spilled on their bellies. Blake groaned and slammed into him a few more seconds, nuzzling Adam’s neck as he heard Adam gasping as he filled him up.

Blake shut his eyes tight, just then feeling the saltiness of sweat sneaking past his eyelids, and moved his hips erratically as he emptied himself inside Adam with his hole clenching and unclenching around him as if to goad him into going insane with pleasure.

“Hot,” Adam mumbled, more than a bit incoherent and choked, and Blake would’ve been smugger about it if he didn’t feel so beat.

“Hm-mm,” he agreed, making a big effort to hold himself up to stop crushing Adam with his weight. He pulled out with a squishy, obscene sound and held Adam open to watch the mixture of semen and lube leaking out of Adam’s fucked-out hole slowly, it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen and he would’ve pushed right back in if he could.

His thumbs caressed the skin at each side reverently when Adam cried out at the loss and flailed to grip any part of Blake he could reach.

“Stay,” Adam tried to demand. It sounded too much like a question and Blake kissed both of Adam’s hands that he’d just taken in his to calm him down.

“Staying right here with you, darling,” he reassured, low and loving and still panting like he’d run a hundred miles, cleaning the worst of the mess with his shirt before pulling Adam into his arms and spooning with him, nosing his nape and kissing his skin in much the same way he’d done when they first greeted each other, “Gosh, you were amazing, the best I’ve ever had.”

Adam tilted his head to the side to look at him, raising an eyebrow as he still tried to catch his breath, “Glad to be your favorite so far,” he said, a very apparent edge of vulnerability to his sass that made Blake kiss him chastely before the smaller man turned his head again, “It was nice, I’ll give you that.”

“I’ll give you nice,” Blake snorted, smirking against Adam’s shoulder when he made him shiver with a tiny bite there, “Cheeky little bastard.”

“Hmm,” Adam hummed, his body going utterly lax between Blake’s arms, “Can’t wait.”

Adam was already asleep but Blake kissed a tiny bit of an ‘I love you’ into his shoulder, sighing contentedly as he closed his eyes and dreamed with still holding Adam like this many years from that moment.


	31. sick!Adam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something I scribbled back when Adam was actually sick last season and finished hastily today after working all day while drinking whiskey so it's probably crap, sorry. 
> 
> You should all go read breezy's [sick!Adam fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3841513) if you haven't already.

Waking up to damp sheets plastered to his skin doesn’t really come as a surprise, not after spending the last couple of days running mostly on empty despite usually counting with a never-ending tank of energy that allows him to bounce at first light every morning and go to bed way past the time he should every night.

He hates sleeping, abhors wasting time having his eyes closed and doing nothing, but that’s exactly what he feels like doing today. It’s just his luck tonight is the spring break concert the show’s organized. CeeLo is going to be there and Adam’s been looking forward to it ever since he heard what they were planning.

He won’t let a stupid little cold or flu or whatever the fuck this is ruin it for him but it’s hard to pretend he’s one hundred percent when even stumbling to the bathroom leaves him breathless and lightheaded.

He rummages through the cabinets for the thermometer, smiling to himself when it takes him five minutes to locate the thing because both he and Behati are so messy nothing has a specific place to be—just barely known whereabouts, but it works for them.

He turns it on and sticks it in his ear, wincing when the uncomfortable tickling it causes ends in a small cough that lets him know his throat might not be sore just yet but it will be soon enough. He just hopes it’s after the show, that’s all he asks.

It beeps and he checks the screen, cursing under his breath when he reads the little black numbers. 101,3ºF is bad enough that he gives in and starts fumbling for Tylenol. He knows there’s a bottle of it somewhere because his mom always makes sure he has all the basics even though he hates taking pills.

He swallows one dry and strips, opening the faucet as he leans on the wall with his other hand because the ground doesn’t exactly feel rock solid and the last thing he needs right now is slipping and cracking his head on the tub. Gee, what a way to go.

No matter how hot he regulates the water, he can’t stop shivering.

***

He wants to put on five sweaters, a scarf, and a jacket and a couple of blankets on top of that too but he compromises in two, a denim jacket and a beanie.

He calls for a company car to pick him up for the first time in… wow, ever, probably, and spends the ride horizontal on the back seat, taking shallow breaths through his mouth and weak gulps from a water bottle.

No matter how much he drinks, he’s still thirsty.

***

Carson is right up front when Adam makes it and he fusses over him so much Adam couldn’t even miss his mom if he wanted to. He wraps an arm around Adam’s shoulders and stirs him to the lounge room where there’s a nice enough couch for Adam to lie down and squint up at him.

“It’s just a little fever,” he affirms, batting his friend’s hand away from his forehead after the third time he takes his temperature in less than two minutes.

The host shakes his head, huffing. “You’re burning up and I can’t send you home, buddy, I’m so sorry.”

Adam sighs. He’s at that point where even the breath in his lungs feels like it’s scorching him but he’s still cold, still shivering, and he feels so much like shit that Carson’s worried and slightly guilty look pisses him off.

“It’s fine,” he stresses, because it really is. This is nothing compared to having to brave a concert with the band while being sick as a dog. This time at least the whole responsibility of the vocals isn’t on his shoulders and he was able to munch half a toast and do twenty minutes of yoga to help with the nerves that still come to bite him in the ass after over twenty years of singing, “I know you can’t tell sometimes but I’m a pro, y’know. I can do it.”

“I know you are, Adam,” Carson says. His hand is so blessedly cold when he touches Adam’s cheek that he lets his friend be. You can’t take the dad out of some dudes after they have kids, after all, and he distantly wonders if he’s going to be like that too when he and Bee have their own, “Try to get some rest now. I’ll come to wake you when we’re ready for the rehearsal to start.”

Adam curls up, throws an arm over his eyes to block the light and sighs in relief when Carson switches it off on his way out.

***

He’s slightly offended the show felt it necessary to tweet that he’s sick. His voice is still okay, fuck you very much, and if he struggles with a couple of notes here and there it’s because he’s running out of breath quicker than he can catch it, not because his range has gone AWOL.

He gets pats on the shoulder and get well soon’s to last him a year so he knows he must look awful. He just hopes his slightly puffy ears aren’t tricking him and he doesn’t sound like shit too.

Blake gives him a look after they take some pictures. He hasn’t let go of Adam’s shoulders and it doesn’t look like he will any time soon but he’s warm and comfy against Adam’s side—he always is, the dickhead—so Adam doesn’t complain.

“You’re gonna set yourself on fire wearing all this on stage,” the country singer comments, pressing Adam closer to his body as his hands inspect the layers Adam is wearing and apparently disapproves.

“But I’m cold,” he mumbles.

Blake leans his chin on Adam’s beanie, his fingers pulling out from under his jacket and spreading on his back, and Adam smiles and burrows into him because for once no one is watching and they can just be.

This season’s been trying and weird for him since day one. Most of the contestants didn’t want him, the audience didn’t seem keen on him either, and it’s been hard to accommodate to that knowing he’s done nothing wrong and wanting to keep doing the job he enjoys.

Blake can say all the shit he wants about him—hell, he probably does it exactly because of that; because he _can_ and he knows that Adam can take it. Adam knows how to roll with the punches, knows not to take it to heart ever, but everything’s been so hectic lately it’s nice to have a little reminder that Blake cares about him despite they’ve hardly had any time to hang out.

His mouth is the only part of him that lies to Adam, the only one that is callous and cruel. The rest of his body is always gentle, always caring, always welcoming and warm and so familiar it’s like they’ve known each other for decades instead of four years.

***

Everything goes well. His voice doesn’t betray him, not too badly anyway, and he gets to play and sing beside Blake for the whole thing. It’s an effort to keep still, to remember to save every breath for the notes and not let his body take over when it itches for him to move, but he makes it. He’s always loved to share the stage with his friends as opposed to perform in front of them; that’s always been nerve-wracking and definitely not something he wants to do being anything but top notch.

He apologizes to CeeLo, vowing they’ll hang out again sometime next week when he’s better, and waves everyone goodbye as they leave for the after party.

He barely makes it to his dressing room to take off most of what he’s wearing and put his head in the sink.

The cold water on his nape makes him shiver even more but he’s so hot it’s a relief at the same time, it helps him breathe easier, and makes everything around him tilt back into place.

He’s still with his head under the tap, panting and blinking the rivulets of water off his eyes, when he feels big hands kneading his shoulders, easing the little tremors there.

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’,” Blake drawls, looking down at him thoroughly unimpressed, “No, wait, I do. I told you—“

“I’m fine,” Adam cuts in, puffing and shaking his head like a dog to dry off. He smirks when he gets Blake wet as a result and the older man to scowl at him, “Go away, you’re gonna miss the party, man.”

Blake just rolls his eyes and presses a pill to Adam’s lips that he has no option but to accept, licking it out of Blake’s fingers and wincing at the aftertaste and what is now a full-on sore, scratchy throat. A bottle comes next and Adam parts his lips for it readily this time, blinking up at the country singer in confusion.

“You’ve been in here for half an hour, dumbass,” Blake tells him but Adam still doesn’t get why he’s the one who came back for him, “I’m gonna take your sorry ass home and then catch up with everybody.”

Adam’s cheeks are already heated but he feels his face going hotter with the realization of just how bad a little fever fucks him up. A couple degrees and he’s down for the count, making it worse with every minute he spends out of the comfort of his bed.

“I can take myself home, thanks,” he assures, stubborn even as he staggers to gather his things so he can get out of there, “Go and celebrate, you have lots of things to brag about.” God knows he’s been doing just that every time he’s within earshot, making sure no one forgets his team is intact while Adam’s already lost two of his singers.

Blake catches him by the elbow when the room goes bright for a second. He doesn’t tease him anymore, not even as he has to half-drag, half-carry Adam out of the place, and his arm doesn’t leave Adam’s waist, not even when they’re in the car.

When sitting becomes too much effort, he lies down and rests his head on Blake’s thigh. He doesn’t pay attention to anything but how good his hands feel on his forehead then, or on his cheeks and neck.

He whines when Blake takes that sweet relief away from him but clings to him when the taller man carries him out of the car and into his house.

He doesn’t even care he’s probably never going to hear the end of this, he just wants to sleep.

***

He changes his mind easily so when they are finally in his bedroom he decides there’s no way he’s going to bed drenched in sweat and with dirty sheets. Blake grouses a little but shoos Adam to the bathroom as he tries to make his bed while simultaneously being ambushed by two eager dogs that are dying for some petting.

He feels a little bit more human as he pads back to the bedroom. He still feels awful but he smells nice and that’s important. He drops the towel he wrapped around his hips right outside his closet and walks inside to get something to wear, not really caring if Blake gets a close-up of his ass he didn’t ask for.

He crawls under the covers after putting on a sweatshirt and clean underwear. The sweatshirt smells like Bee’s perfume and the mattress feels so good under him that he’s not sure whether he moans or not, but being finally comfortable after long hours of pushing himself to be up feels like heaven.

“You sure you’re good on your own, buddy?” Blake asks, “You’re really sick.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Adam mutters, opening one eye to look at his friend, standing in all his tall and awkward glory beside the bed, “Why’re you still here, man?”

For a moment, he thinks Blake wants some sort of thanks. It’s not like him, and they don’t really do please and thank you because it’s never been necessary between them, but Adam will thank him if that’s what he wants. He opens his mouth to do as much at the same time Blake sits on the bed to touch his forehead again.

“Where’s Behati?” the country star asks and Adam shouldn’t really be proud of the way he doesn’t butcher his wife’s name any more than everyone else does, shouldn’t be glad he at least doesn’t call her Behatay anymore but he kind of is. It’s progress and it means Blake’s been paying attention and that maybe he’ll get it right eventually, “Can’t you call her?”

Adam shakes his head, huddling under the blankets until only his eyes are visible. He’s not sure Blake hears him but he seems to get Bee is working and tucks Adam in better when he closes his eyes.

***

There’s a pitcher filled with juice when he comes to and Blake seems to have been waiting for him to wake up because he hands him a glass right away, a sheepish air about him that makes Adam pause.

He takes a sip, suppressing a wince when the taste lets him know it’s been long enough since Blake made it that the tangerines went a little sour and all the vitamin C in it is probably gone.

He doesn’t know why Blake is trying so hard, why he ended up staying instead of leaving to party with his team and their friends, but he’s not going to make him feel bad about all the effort he’s doing so he drinks the whole thing and smiles at him.

They end up having breakfast in bed, and Blake leaves crumbs everywhere and even spills some juice on the sheets but Adam doesn’t care. Blake seems to relax as Adam settles on his chest after taking another pill and it’s been such a long while since they’ve been this at ease with each other he literally doesn’t give a fuck about anything else.

Blake’s probably feeling a bit guilty about saying something rude about him to some reporter. What else is new?

***

Adam wakes up from a mid-morning nap still woozy and feeling very much like road kill, but somehow still being able to smell all the onion Blake put in the steaming bowl of soup that sits innocently on the nightstand.

He’s amazed at Blake’s timing, still trying to blink the heaviness behind his eyes away, when his friend pretty much picks him up with one arm like he’s a child and builds a mountain of pillows on Adam’s back so he can sit without making any actual effort.

“You’re still too warm,” Blake informs him with a frown, the back of his hand so blissfully cool against his forehead Adam feels tiny tears of relief forming in the corners of his eyes, “I’ll go get the thermometer, you get some food in you now.”

“Yes, _dad_ ,” Adam replies as obnoxiously as he can at the moment which isn’t much at all, sniffling and squinting suspiciously at the bowl after Blake hands it to him along with a spoon, “You know I’m already sick, right, asshole? I don’t need food poisoning on top of it.”

Blake rolls his eyes at him, “Just eat the damn soup, don’t make me feed it to you.”

Adam makes faces at the soup while the country singer is gone, trying to guess what’s in it without actually eating it. He doesn’t like eating when he doesn’t know what exactly he’s putting inside his body but the picture Blake must’ve made rummaging through his kitchen trying to cook something nice and warm for him is enough to change his mind about it, just this once.

He can tell there’s bacon in it and onions—lots and lots of onions and tomato and taking a tiny sip lets him know there’s garlic in it too and probably too many carrots.

He really misses Bee’s chicken noodle soup, Gee, this is way too much for his poor taste buds right now, but it’s hot and Blake made it for him so he’d feel better so he’s going to eat it or die trying.

It tastes kinda nice actually, after the first ten spoons or so, and his stomach feels a whole lot less angry at him, the nausea easing little by little as he eats.

“Here, let me,” Blake says, already sticking the thermometer in his ear while he’s swirling the spoon in the bowl. He hisses and shivers and glares because it’s fucking cold and Blake startled him but his friend mostly ignores him, focusing on the thing as one of his big hands curls on Adam’s nape to keep him still, He whistles after it beeps and reads, “A hundred and two point two.”

Just hearing how very sick he still is tires Adam out. He clumsily pushes the bowl to Blake, half the soup still in it, and slides back under the covers to shove his face on his favorite pillow after tossing every other cushion aside.

Blake stays next to him, sitting on the mattress and keeping his hand right on Adam’s clammy hot neck.

***

“C’mon, buddy, up you go,” Blake is saying and Adam whines because he’s waking him up to make him leave the haven of his bed for something unknown that he definitely doesn’t want, his body rebelling against it with violent shivers and roiling queasiness.

“No—“ he moans, trying to stop Blake from hoisting him up on his shoulder to carry him to the bathroom.

“Adam, easy now,” Blake stresses, his voice tense enough to stop Adam from squirming too much on Blake’s shoulder as he’s carried like a sack of potatoes to the bathroom and gently left on the floor next, “We need to get your fever down now, I’m sorry.”

He opens the water then and Adam blinks bleary eyes at him, not really seeing him past the tears his eyes keep producing even though he doesn’t really feel like he’s crying or even breathing and more like he’s just floating, not really understanding why Blake is apologizing either.  It’s not like Adam even cares or has much modesty to begin with; if he wants to see Adam naked so bad he’s stripping him in his bathroom, he can do it any day.

“You like me,” he states, probably kind of stupidly, smiling weakly at Blake as the country artist rolls his sleeves up, the back of Adam’s head hitting the edge of the tub with a loud thud he barely feels, “You’re so weird.”

“I’ll like you more when you’re not burning up, Adam, c’mon,” Blake presses, lifting Adam from beneath his armpits to get him in the tub.

He screams and struggles to get free from Blake’s iron hold as he keeps him under the freezing cold water cascading on Adam’s head and back, running down every inch of his body in such a contrast with how warm he feels that it hurts and he wants nothing but to stop it right away.

“P—Please, stop! _Stop_!” he sobs, feet kicking uselessly to get out because Blake is the one supporting most of his weight, “Blake, please!”

Blake shushes him so he just keeps crying quietly, trembling from head to toe and feeling like his skin is being peeled off. The only points where he’s not hurting are right where Blake is gripping his sides firmly to keep him in place.

He hangs his head and makes a grab for Blake’s arms but misses because he can’t see straight not even a feet away.

“Just a couple more minutes, buddy, I promise,” his friend says between some pitiful moans Adam still breathes out from time to time.

Adam sags against Blake’s chest after he turns off the water, getting him soggy all over as Blake wraps a towel around his back. He grips his thighs to get Adam up against him and the pop singer goes meekly, still shivering but not as bad as before, burrowing into Blake’s neck when he secures Adam with an arm around his back.

He’s limp as Blake dries him with the towel and dresses him, barely grimaces with the poke of the thermometer in his ear for what feels like time number twenty.

“Hundred and three,” Blake announces, almost proudly, “It’s better, hopefully it won’t go up that bad again.”

Adam coughs weakly, curls up on his side and closes his eyes.

***

Adam comes to Blake snoring softly beside him, bags under his eyes and stubble thicker than he usually keeps it. He snuggles closer against him, trying not to make a sound, but Blake still takes a deep breath and stirs, the arm around Adam’s waist tightening for a moment as he wakes.

“You don’t mind me crashing for a while, right, buddy?” Blake asks sleepily, “Keeping an eye on you knocked me on my ass.”

Adam tilts his head up sheepishly, not even knowing where to start apologizing for being such a bother even though he never asked Blake to stay. He wants to think he would’ve called one of his buddies or his mom to come take care of him but he’s not so sure, everything’s a little too blurry in his head.

He nuzzles against Blake’s neck, letting him know he can stay all he wants in Adam’s place and tries to wrap his head around the fact he just lost two days of his life.

“Your wife’s coming,” Blake murmurs against his hair, “I told her your fever broke a couple of hours ago but she’s still worried and I don’t blame her, almost a hundred and five is one hell of a scare.”

“But she’s working,” Adam sulks, fisting Blake’s shirt as he tries not to get giddy with anticipation of seeing Behati way ahead of schedule, “I can’t interrupt her, it’s important.”

“ _You_ ’re important,” Blake points out, “She wants to be here, make sure you’re alright.”

Adam sighs, biting his lip guiltily because he still feels like shit; his fever is gone, sure, but every muscle and bone in his body feels like it’s made of lead and he wants to sleep for a week which probably means he’s still very much sick.

Blake makes him drink some water before they take another nap.

***

“Blake is not so bad,” Behati comments, brushing sticky hair from Adam’s forehead with soft and caring fingers before kissing his brow.

“No, he’s not,” Adam agrees, leaning into his wife’s touch, “He’s not bad at all.”

He grins happily as his mind goes through all the bits and pieces of Blake taking care of him that he can remember.

 _He cares_.


	32. kitty!Adam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crack fic, kitty!Adam.
> 
> To quote Adam; I don't have an explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for my boo :3

In the four years of the show, Adam had been late the exact amount of zero times.

Blake acted like he wasn’t worried when one of his bud’s artists came to him mid-morning, sheepishly interrupting his team’s rehearsal to ask if Blake could please try calling Adam because he wasn’t picking up their calls or answering their texts, but truth was he felt like he’d been kicked by a bull right in the middle of his chest from the get go.

This wasn’t like Adam at all; the little guy was always either the first or the second—beaten only by Blake, of course—to be at the studio. He didn’t even need his Starbucks cup to be a lively and a little hyper mass of energy, running around making the staff laugh and always looking for him to annoy before heading to his team’s rehearsal room.

He hadn’t picked Blake’s calls either and James, who usually knew anything Adam could be up to, had no idea where he could be.

He was walking backstage, biting his lip as he looked around for Carson to see if he’d had any more luck than Blake did in locating their friend, when he heard it; a low, high-pitched mewl coming from somewhere above his head.

He frowned and stopped, looking up to the rafters because that sure didn’t sound like somebody’s phone.

He heard it again, small and distressed, just before his eyes caught a teeny tiny fluffball wobbling on a beam.

“What’re you doing up there, little fella?” he asked, laughing when the black kitten seemed to mewl indignantly at him in response, “Well, sure, I’ll help you since you asked so nice.”

He stepped closer slowly but the kitten still tensed, its little back arching as its paws stood straighter on the beam, and hurried to hide behind the crossing of two poles when Blake’s big hand tried to grab it.

“Come, kitty kitty kitty,” Blake called it, sighing when it hissed and tried to scratch him with its little but pointy claws, “Aw, don’t be like that, little one. I’m trying to help you here, I swear!”

The kitten was just too little for him to leave it up there so even though it clearly didn’t want anything to do with Blake and seemed to know he’d never been a cat person he had to get it down.

He had to stretch quite a bit but he got it, cussing under his breath when the frightened thing dug its nails on his hand and screeched, trying to break free so desperately Blake felt sorry for it and cooed, rubbing under its small chin to calm it down.

Its fur was very soft and shiny, not like a stray cat’s should be at all, and Blake smiled in delight when it finally let him hold it and purred slightly as Blake stroked it.

It was so small it fit in Blake’s hand and left room to spare.

“That’s a good boy,” Blake praised after peering at its belly to find out whether it was a boy or a girl, “Now who could’ve lost such a cute, teensy thing like you?”

He stopped only for a second and the kitten instantly bit his index finger, scratching his hand some more when Blake hissed and tried to get those small but sharp teeth out of his skin.

“You got a temper in you, don’t you?” he drawled, chuckling when the kitten kept trying to swat at him, “But that’s no reason to dump you, is it? You just need to be taught some manners.”

“Who are you talking to, buddy?” Carson asked, raising his eyebrows when Blake showed him the teeny tiny thing in his hands, “I didn’t know you liked cats.”

“I don’t,” Blake admitted, wincing when the kitten bit his thumb, “I found him up there, you think it could be somebody’s?”

“Hmm,” the host frowned, staring at the angry cat and laughing when he let go of Blake’s finger to sprint up his arm clumsily and dig his claws on Blake’s shoulder to hiss at Carson when he tried to pet him, “We can ask but it looks to me he’s already adopted you, pal, so congrats on the new kitten.”

Blake sighed, tilting his head to look at the small brownish-yellow eyes watching him curiously, “I’ll look after you for a few days, little one, but I’m not making any promises.”

He kind of changed his mind right away when the kitten let out a high, needy sound that pulled at his heartstrings painfully.

He raised a finger to pet him absently as Carson brought him up to speed, already kinda used to the sting of the sharp claws the kitten used to resist to the caresses until Blake found the right spot on his neck and got him to purr and calm down again.

“He’s really missing,” he summarized, his voice catching in his throat with the news.

Carson patted him on the arm, alternatively looking at him and the kitty.

“Go home, buddy,” his friend suggested, “Let the police do their job. I’ll wrap things up here and do the same.”

“All right,” Blake agreed, deflated, jerking a little but smiling when he realized the fluffy thing rubbing against his neck was the kitty he’d found trying to make him feel better.

He sent his team home and didn’t offer the kitten to any of them or the staff, letting the small thing nibble on his ear and play with his hair as he strolled around the studio to set things in order before leaving.

***

He asked his driver to pull over for a few minutes so he could buy cat food, leaving the kitty in question in the car with the guy and going back quickly after getting a few cans of Fancy feast and Friskies for kittens.

“That little fucker is a menace,” the driver told Blake, handing him the cat back by the neck as if it were a ticking bomb which the country singer couldn’t blame him for, the little fella was hissing and swatting like a tiny beast and had already left most of the guy’s fingers bloody, “You better say goodbye to your furniture, man.”

“Should I give him milk too?” Blake asked, letting the kitty scratch at his jeans as it tried chasing his fingers on his lap, “I’ve got milk in my fridge, I think.”

His driver texted his daughter who owned two cats in the next red light, letting Blake know cow’s milk would only make the kitten sick despite Blake remembered from his childhood most people he knew giving regular milk to their cats.

“Huh, the more you know,” he mumbled, watching the little thing climb to his shoulder again with more interest than he probably should, “I’m glad I asked, thanks, pal.”

***

He opened one can of each and let the kitten sniff at the food and decide which one he’d eat first.

He sat on one of the kitchen’s stools to watch him eat, grinning as he listened to the hungry and pleased loud noises the kitten was making as he ate from the small can with one of his paws, licking between his tiny fingers before digging in again.

“You’re a fancy little thing, aren’t you?” Blake talked to him, “Don’t want any nasty food stains on your mouth, is that it, little one?”

The kitty meowed louder, trying to swipe at Blake when he pushed the little can closer to him after his new little friend tossed it to the side in his enthusiasm to eat the whole thing.

“Hey, it’s all yours, don’t get mad at me,” Blake soothed, “Just trying to help you here, buddy.”

The kitten finished the can of Fancy feast in no time and the country singer blinked at him as he hissed and hit the empty can as if demanding more.

He ran all the way to Blake’s feet and scratched angrily at his boots when he failed to give him more.

“I got it, I got it!” he exclaimed, hurrying to open another can of the same brand even though the kitty seemed way too small to finish a second one so soon, “Here, have at it.”

The kitten did the same adorable noises as he ate, using his right paw to get small bits of food at a time and lick them from his fingers and mewling louder whenever Blake touched his little head, smiling as the tiny thing seemed to squint in pleasure at the taste.

Blake was really starting to see the appeal in cats.

“Look at you, you’re so little,” he cooed, “You need a name, don’t you?”

He didn’t think it was a good idea at all; once he did, there’d be no giving the kitty away to someone else.

The other problem was that the only name that came to his mind was Adam and the longer he looked at the kitten, the more it seemed to suit him and his dark, smooth hair and bright hazel eyes.

“Adam?” he tried it out, raising his eyebrows in surprise when the kitty’s ears flickered and he paused to look at the country singer, his little paw mid-way to the can, “You like that, huh? Adam,” he said again, only for the kitten to blink and meow softly at him, “Look at that, you’re smarter than he is already.”

His laughter at his own joke was short-lived and tense; he wished more than anything that Adam was there with him instead of God only knew where.

The kitten stopped eating and stomped to him, clawing at Blake’s legs for him to pick him up which he did, the lump of worry in his throat too thick for him to speak.

His new pet trembled in his hand, mewling miserably as he closed his big eyes and all but sagged between Blake’s fingers.

He sat up straighter in worry, rubbing the kitty’s back as he felt the little thing hiccupping a little bit in his grasp. He opened his palm to give him more room to lay down, brushing his belly with the fingers of his other hand gently.

“You ate too much, didn’t you?” he said, leaning down to nuzzle the kitten and amazed when he didn’t swat at Blake’s nose and just clung to it with his paws instead, crying pitifully again, “Aw, little one, you made yourself sick. Shh, you’re all right, you’re okay.”

He got him to purr again, if a little too low, after rubbing at his chin and nuzzling against his tiny forehead. He smiled in relief when he felt the small fluffy body in his hand losing some of the tension in it.

“There you go,” he soothed, refusing to acknowledge his own eyes welling up with tears as he thought about his missing friend again, “It’s okay, Adam, I got you, buddy.”

***

He slept restlessly that night, both because he was too worried about Adam and because he feared he’d crush the fluffball sleeping on the pillow next to him if he fell asleep too deeply.

It helped him to calm down to watch the little guy curled into a ball, his tiny face directed at Blake so he could blink awake and look at him from time to time. It made him feel warm inside, knowing the kitten needed to see him to feel safe and go back to sleep, and he got to catch some shuteye too with his fingers rubbing his soft little body until his eyes closed.

He was careful to just let Adam—the kitten, and yeah, he hated himself a little for naming it that but he just hoped his little rock start would come back to laugh about it soon—eat about half a can of cat food and offered water to him in the tiniest bowl he had, which was supposed to be for dipping sauce and was still way too big for the kitty but it was better than nothing.

The little guy was so goddamn stubborn he seemed more interested in drinking from the tap than from the bowl but refused Blake’s help, scratching at his hand when he tried to lift him so he could lick a few drops from it.

“Fine, have it your way,” he shrugged, watching in amusement as the kitten walked clumsily on the kitchen counter  and slipped when he stepped on the slick surface of the sink, meowing indignantly at Blake as if he blamed the country star for it, “What? You didn’t want my help, don’t point at me now.”

He put him down when he almost fell into the sink, ignoring the even angrier mewls and putting the little bowl in front of him again.

“Here’s your water, c’mon, I know you must be thirsty, Adam, don’t be silly now,” he prompted, “You’re a smart kitty, you know what to do.”

He crouched and waited patiently for his fluffy friend to drink, touching the water with his finger and showing him the wet pad of it so he could lick it and realize what it was.

He got a bite for his trouble but after almost a day of dealing with the same, it hardly fazed him.

“You want my blood instead, huh?” he drawled as the kitten kept nibbling on his finger and digging his nails on Blake’s already scraped skin, “Is it tasty?”

Adam hissed at him as if in reply, licking his paws and smoothing the hairs around his tiny muzzle with them before finally drinking the water, repeating the grooming process once he’d taken his fill.

“Attaboy,” he praised, using one finger to pet the kitty’s head and actually getting him to purr a little before he noticed what Blake was doing and swatted at him again, “All right, you’re a feisty little thing, I got it.”

Blake called his PA and asked her to buy whatever she thought was necessary for a kitten, paying for everything once she got to Blake’s rental house and laughing when the girl tried to touch the kitten and almost got scratched.

“He likes playing hard to get,” he explained as Adam jumped on his little paws and tried with all his might to scratch her, “He’ll calm down a little if you let him bite your fingers.”

His PA wasn’t on board with that idea and left quickly after asking if he knew anything about Adam, making Blake drop on the couch and rub his face when the reality of his friend’s disappearance hit him again; the longer he was missing, the less likely it was for the police to find him alive or at all.

They said most cases stayed cold if they couldn’t find the victim after three days and the first one had passed so fast, Blake couldn’t even think about what he was going to do if he never saw Adam again.

The kitten on his lap meowed and swiped at his shirt to get his attention, climbing with his little claws to Blake’s shoulder when he failed to acknowledge him and tugging at his curls until Blake hissed in pain at feeling a scratch on his scalp and turned to look at him.

“Seriously, buddy? That hurt,” he complained, “What do you want now?”

The kitten rubbed against his jaw, purring louder than Blake had ever heard him when he lifted a hand to stroke him.

Blake didn’t even protest when he seemed to get bored of the petting and went back to bite his ear and his fingers, swatting at his hair whenever Blake moved to change the channel on the TV or take another swing from his beer.

It was a little early to drink, sure, but not really early at all considering the day he was having.

***

Blake set the litter box in the kitchen, scratching his head as he tried to decide whether it was too close to the kitty’s food and water or not. He didn’t know if that’d be a bad thing but he sure wouldn’t like to crap in the same place he ate, so he made sure to leave it on the opposite corner of the room for his little friend to do his business in peace.

The kitten’s energy seemed never-ending and it was really hard to keep him interested in things; he got bored of the toy with the feather in the tip after an hour and kept running around the house restlessly, meowing irately whenever he felt Blake wasn’t paying enough attention to him even though he spent the majority of the time chasing him in case he hurt himself, only sitting to rest when the little thing took entirely too short catnaps before sprinting to action again.

He whooped when he found a keychain someone had gifted to him that had a laser pointer in it and showed the light to Adam, laughing when the little guy tripped over his tiny feet to chase the red spot all over the living room.

That got him tired enough not to attack Blake when he scooped him up from the spot he’d picked to sprawl on the floor, lifting half-lidded green-yellowish eyes at him as Blake cradled him in his hand and looked for one of his oldest flannels to toss in a box and put the kitty inside while he fixed himself something to eat.

He still took the box to the kitchen with him and peeked inside every now and then, amazed every time he found Adam still curled up and sleeping peacefully.

Of course, it only took him one moment in which Blake wasn’t looking to rip his shirt to shreds and leap out of the box, mewling piercingly as Blake ate brunch half-heartedly.

“You’re hungry too, pal?” he asked, standing up to get the half-finished can of cat food for him and smiling when the kitten thrust his paw in right away and licked it eagerly, “There you go, knew you were.”

He drank from the bowl without a fuss this time, rushing to hiss and scratch Blake’s boots when he finished all the water in it.

“All right, all right!” Blake shook his head, filling the bowl again and watching the kitty lapping at it gracefully despite being such a teensy little beast the rest of the time, “You’re a handful, aren’t you?”

He finished his food and climbed to Blake’s lap all by himself, scratching his jeans as he turned around until he seemed content with the spot he’d chosen and lied down, letting Blake finish his own meal.

He still jumped and hissed when Blake petted him, scratching his fingers furiously until Blake rubbed him right and he all but melted under his attention, purring contentedly as Blake watched him intently.

They slept closer the second night, Blake didn’t even bother shooing him to the other pillow and just tried to stay still as the kitten claimed the spot right beside his head.

***

Carson visited him the next morning, following Adam with interest after rolling his eyes when Blake told him the name he’d chosen for the kitty.

“You’re unbelievable,” the host said, long-suffering, “But I bet Adam will find it just as funny as you do.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, looking down when the pang of worry in his chest was just too much and his voice cracked, “Yeah, he will.”

“It’s going to be okay, buddy,” Carson tried comforting him, squeezing his shoulder tighter when Blake failed to look at him, “You have to believe that, you falling apart right now won’t help Adam, okay?”

He nodded, smiling slightly as the kitten leaped to his lap and then ran to his shoulder to swat at Carson’s retreating hand and biting Blake’s fingers when he failed to reach him.

Blake let him, the little pointy teeth still stung but he’d grown used to it.

“You’re spoiling him,” his friend commented.

“I’m not good with cats,” he shrugged, “But he’s good if you get past his claws, look,” he rubbed Adam under his tiny chin to demonstrate how he’d relax and start purring in delight, “See? He just likes to pretend he’s tough but he loves it.”

Carson laughed and stuck around for lunch, petting the kitten but protesting whenever he wasn’t fast enough to avoid getting scratched.

***

Gwen and Pharrell tagged along the next day, each of them bringing a gift for Blake’s newly acquired pet; Gwen’s was a ridiculous tiny cushion with a big cartoon of a tooth with a face on it and Pharrell’s was a big old hat that the kitty loved the most, dashing to hide inside the second he put it down.

“He’s so tiny, I’m so in love,” Gwen gushed, not complaining even once about Adam gnawing at her fingers while she petted him, “He’s a little fighter but that’s just adorable too.”

“Do you know how old he is?” Pharrell asked him, frowning when Blake just blinked at him, “Dude, you should take him to a vet.”

“He looks healthy to me,” he countered, ignoring how Carson shook his head beside him because there was just no way he was leaving the house until they had news from Adam.

It’d been three days already.

The worry was slowly killing him.

And there was something else, something that was either regret or guilt or a bit of both, that was choking him too.

He hadn’t told anybody about it, about how he’d kissed Adam a couple of months ago only to backpedal and lie and say he didn’t mean to, that it’d been a mistake.

He had Adam’s heartbroken expression seared into the back of his eyelids ever since, so much that it was hard to look at him, and he was so surprised things hadn’t been awkward between them after that, that Adam could still come sit in his lap and told Blake constantly he loved him despite Blake hardly said it back anymore.

He didn’t think Adam would do anything stupid because of what he’d done—but what if he was wrong, what if Adam had hurt himself or worse?

The kitten screeched and bit Pharrell’s hand viciously when he offered to take him to the vet himself, but the guy just blinked in amazement and looked at him as he put the little feisty thing down.

“He’s very smart, isn’t he? Wow,” he observed, shaking his hand as if to get rid of the prickle in it, “He knew exactly what I was talking about.”

“I’m going to kidnap him,” Gwen joked as they all watched Adam trying to reach the feather Carson was batting in his hand, “He’s so cute!”

Blake was kinda proud when the kitty picked his lap for his nap later, curling on his thigh as his friends tried to distract him from the fact Adam was still missing.

***

By the fourth day, Blake didn’t feel like doing anything except listening to Maroon 5 and wiping errant tears from his eyes.

His kitten mewled along with the vocals, rubbing against Blake’s hands and neck and wherever he could reach as if trying to make him feel better.

It was working, if only just.

“I miss him so much, buddy,” he confessed, nuzzling his soft tiny body, “So much.”

***

The next morning Blake woke and cursed loudly.

The window of the bedroom was wide open, he’d forgotten to close it before sleeping, and Adam—his kitten—seemed to be following Adam’s lead and be in the middle of a disappearing act that made Blake more than a little anxious.

He called everybody as he looked for him all over the patio, shouting his name and making come here noises that cats were supposed to respond to but that got him nowhere.

He was so little Blake knew the chances of him being all right if he’d gotten farther were slim and he couldn’t bear to lose him, he’d gotten so attached to his grumpy fluffball he ought to be embarrassed.

“Where did you find him the first time, Blake?” Pharrell asked, frowning in concentration as he looked around.

“Rafters of the studio,” he replied and his fellow coach nodded, rushing to the couple of trees that were at the edge of the backyard.

Blake ran to him when his friend gestured frantically for them to come.

“There he is! See?” Pharrell showed them and Blake sagged in relief when he spotted his kitten sitting on a branch, “Now we just need to get him down.”

He had to bite his lip hard when he thought about how Adam would climb up there no problem and get the kitty down in no time if he was there with them.

It took Gwen’s husband half an hour, but he got to the kitty and zipped him inside his jacket to get back down, laughing when the little guy swatted at his chin and scratched his t-shirt as he meowed angrily at him.

Gwen took him from Gavin’s chest, handing him to Blake with a big grin.

“Thanks, guys,” he said, smiling slightly when the little fucker ran up his arm to perch on his shoulder and nibble his ear, “I thought I’d managed to lose another Adam.”

“Blake,” Carson sighed as everyone exchanged worried glances, “We can’t lose hope, hoping it’s everything we can do to help him.”

Blake nodded and pretended he was fine and dandy, waiting until he was alone again to open a bottle of Bacardi and drinking half of it in just a few sips while the kitten screeched and swatted on his lap as if trying to get him to stop.

He put him down a couple of times, but the little thing rushed back to him every time so he gave up and let him shriek and climb all over him, not even wincing when Adam scratched his cheek and hissed angrily at him.

He did react later that night when he went to bed and his kitten licked at the scrape on Blake’s sweaty face apologetically, mewling softly as he rubbed his teeny tiny face against Blake’s cheek.

“I love him, buddy,” he slurred, “Should’ve told him when I could, should’ve kissed him again.”

The kitty started purring then, nuzzling Blake’s chin until he fell asleep in a mist of booze and misery.

***

Instead of waking up with a kitten curled against his neck, he opened his eyes to find a very naked Adam with his head tucked under Blake’s chin and the sheets tangled between his legs, Blake’s hand gripping the small of his back as the other did the same with the side of his neck, thumb snug behind Adam’s ear.

His breath hitched as he tried to process things; he’d heard about this, knew it was fairly common in the South even though it’d never happened to him before but he had no idea it could happen right in California where everyone was supposed to be liberal and laidback.

Sometimes, people got turned into animals and only went back to being themselves when a certain cue was given.

Adam snuggled closer to him in his sleep, his arm around Blake’s middle holding him tighter, sighing deeply when Blake responded in kind and tightened his grip on him.

He was warm and smooth under Blake’s hands, real and solid even though he looked like a dream; bare as the day he was born between Blake’s sheets, clinging to him as if Blake had never broken both of their hearts for being too much of a chicken.

He nuzzled Adam’s ear, smiling wider when the pop singer’s breath caught in his throat and he tossed his head back a little bit, just enough to let Blake nuzzle his nose and cheek as he waited for the younger man to wake up.

When Adam blinked awake and his eyes widened in surprise, Blake cupped his face and gave him a close-mouthed, brief peck on the lips.

“You don’t wanna kiss me right now, trust me, darling,” he murmured against Adam’s lips, chuckling when the smaller man scrunched his nose no doubt smelling his awful morning breath.

“Oh God, don’t talk,” Adam pleaded, pushing Blake’s face to the side with a hand, “What the fuck crawled inside your mouth and died, man? Ugh.”

 _My heart_ , Blake almost said, kissing Adam’s shoulder sweetly before getting up and walking to the bathroom.

“You might wanna call somebody, let them know you’re alright,” he said over his shoulder, “We’ve been worried sick about you as I’m sure you know already.”

“I _tried_ telling you it was me, asshole!” Adam complained, grabbing Blake’s phone before wrapping the sheet around his waist, “You weren’t listening!”

“We’re not having this conversation,” Blake shook his head, “You were a kitten, I don’t speak cat.”

Adam kept blaming him for not paying attention.

“You’re from the South! Wasn’t your cousin turned into a canary last year?”

Blake just closed the door to muffle his voice.

***

Adam had the most inviting, beautiful come hither look he’d ever seen when he came back to the bedroom but he still managed to stride to his closet and throw some clothes at him instead of jumping him.

If he had to adjust himself while Adam changed right in front of him with no shame whatsoever, well, he told himself teasing was the least he deserved.

“You’re not changing your mind again, are you?” Adam asked him, his pretty face pinched in worry even as Blake reached for him and pulled him closer to his body now that he was dressed, “You said you loved me, I heard you.”

He looked ridiculous in Blake’s big clothes but also kinda cute, especially with that hopeful glint in his eyes.

“I’m not,” he assured, relishing the startled gasp and muffled moan Adam made when Blake gripped his chin to kiss him soundly, “Just want to take this slow. You mean too much for me not to, Adam.”

Adam smiled, hand curling on Blake’s nape to tug him down for another kiss.

Blake leaned his forehead against his for a moment, vowing he wasn’t going to ruin things this time around.

He didn’t even rat Adam out when he found him eating a can of cat food with a spoon, huddled behind the island in Blake’s kitchen, swearing up and down it tasted like Taco Bell.

If he laughed a little too much, well, that was what they did.


	33. broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for katey, who told me to put adam in a sweater and hurt him, so i did.
> 
> (it sucks, i'm sorry. i tried)

It’s been two days since Adam broke up with his secret not-boyfriend, who’d been more of a glorified booty call than anything else.

He blinks up at the ceiling of his bedroom, the bed feeling cold and unwelcoming even hours after he slipped under the sheets.

His side burns with every breath he takes though, so he doesn’t exactly regret kicking the jerk he was sleeping with out of his life but he’s never been good at handling loneliness and he can’t help but feeling like he somehow deserves all of this; being alone and hurting, not having anyone to curl into, someone who’d kiss his skin early in the morning or late at night and make him smile even when he tried to hide.

He wasn’t the first man Adam slept with but sex between them had been great enough to make their relationship last almost two _months_ instead of the meager couple of weeks Adam usually managed to keep people by his side. At least until the asshole decided hitting him was good foreplay, no matter how much Adam had screamed at him to stop.

He can’t exactly go to a clinic and tell how he got probably more than a couple of cracked ribs. He has a bruise the size of four—or five maybe?—big fists over his left side, the edges blurring and fading while the center is still dark and purple and angry. It’s so tender doing nothing at all still sends tendrils of pain up his spine and crying does shit to relieve it, does shit to make him feel better in the slightest actually.

He still sheds a few tears as he showers, clenching his teeth with every move he makes that upsets his side too much.

It’s bad enough he reaches for some pain pills Jesse got him the last time he twisted his ankle while dancing like a fool during a sound check and didn’t see some wires he proceeded to trip with.

His fingers tremble as he pops the small bottle open and he dry swallows two pills, trying not to stare at his own pathetic, small reflection in the mirror, both fuzzy with steam and tears he can’t seem to stop.

He can probably win a prize in bad romantic decisions, that’s for sure.

***

He huddles under a big, soft sweater and goes to work, putting on his game face and laughing and joking with everyone as if nothing was wrong because nothing is.

His problems are his own and if he got hurt it was because he was stupid and weak enough to allow it.

The painkillers are good enough to carry him almost until lunch break but of course he doesn’t have any more to take because he’s that much of an idiot and he has to hunch over in his big red chair and pretty much run to his trailer once they’re free to eat or in his case, free to pant and shiver as he tries to muffle his moans under the sleeves of his sweater.

Someone tries to open the door, the handle rattling a little but staying in place since he actually locked it for once.

He stands up with some effort, thinking it’s a PA coming to fetch him back to tapping, and unlocks it only to stare up at Blake’s confused frown.

“Since when do you lock your door, huh?” he asks, practically offended, and Adam has to roll his eyes at how self-absorbed his friend has been lately.

Dating a beautiful, famous woman would do that to you, he thinks bitterly.

“What do you want, Shelton?” he says, a little too harshly maybe, trying not to wince as he takes a big gulp of air to keep his knees from buckling.

“So I need permission to come see you now, you loser?” he questions and there’s not enough bite in his words for Adam to believe he aims to hurt him but it still stings.

They’ve been kind of distant—Blake hardly paying attention to him outside of set—ever since the country singer started seeing Gwen, not that he’s going to bring that up like ever.

Sighing is a reflex that is a bitch to his side and before he knows it, he’s being led gently back to the couch. Blake sits him down carefully, like he’s suddenly scared Adam will break if he doesn’t, and kneels in front of him with such earnest concern that Adam’s eyes get wet fast and without permission.

He ducks his head, cheek cushioned by the thickness of the grey sweater he’s wearing, and hopes it’s enough for the other coach not to notice how fucking sad he is.

“Hey, hey now,” Blake drawls, insistent, “You’re pale and sweating. What is it?”

“Nothing,” he lies easily, feeling like the worst scum on Earth at finally having Blake’s attention for himself and no one else.

So maybe the guy he broke up with was broad-shouldered and tall and had a bit on an accent going on along with brownish curls and all of that was everything Adam craved except—well, you know.

He wasn’t this cute, charming, country son of a bitch Adam is stupidly fond of.

“Nothing, my ass,” the country star counters, frown coming back with a vengeance to his handsome face—not that Adam looks at him for long, just stealing a side glance at him before tipping his chin down and trying to get as small as possible, “You almost passed out right in front of me, for a second there, so what’s going on?”

“Just leave me alone, dickhead,” he mumbles half-heartedly, his voice cracking at the end ensuring Blake does precisely the opposite of that.

“No chance in hell,” his friend swears, folding his long legs to take a seat beside him and embracing him with sure, warm arms, gently tucking Adam to his side as he rests his chin on the front man’s head, “You don’t wanna talk? That’s fine by me. We do this instead.”

Adam tries, he really does, not to crumble under Blake’s unrepentant, giving kindness but he’s never been strong enough to resist him, _he’s never going to be_ , so he burrows into his neck and breaks down like he’s been trying not to for ages.

Since Blake is magic like that, he somehow hugs Adam tight without crushing his battered ribs, and rocks him back and forth in his arms like he’s an actual child in need of comfort and maybe—ha, maybe that’s exactly what he is.

There’s nothing romantic about it, no sizzling unresolved sexual tension as Blake holds him close with no one around for a change, but still Adam’s heart goes into a fit and seems to hurt even more than his side does.

“’M sorry,” he hiccups after someone from the staff comes to look for them and Blake barks at them to go away quite successfully despite it’s time to go back to work.

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Blake assures him and it might be that he’s too drained to really tell what’s going on anymore but he feels lips on his forehead, pressing a kiss on his skin that’s possibly the best he’s ever gotten, “I got you.”

And the pet name, that’s the best too.

He closes his eyes and hopes that when he wakes up he’s back in bed and can restart this horrible day all over again so he can do better and not bother Blake with anything.

***

“I think something’s wrong with him,” he hears the country singer whisper at some point later and he’s sleepy but it still feels like betrayal when he grabs Adam’s arm and coaxes him to stop shielding his side with it, “Right here.”

More hands pull his clothes up and then there’s gasping and angry curses thrown around.

He snaps his eyes open to find Carson and Blake staring at his bruise with something akin to horror on their faces.

“Let go,” he mutters, trying to break free from Blake’s hold at the same time he fights off a blush from coloring his cheeks and having about the same success in both tasks.

“What the fuck, Adam? You have a bruise the size of Arkansas there!” Blake points out, like that’s even needed.

“Adam, if you’re in pain, you should’ve told us,” Carson says worriedly.

“It’s none of your fucking business,” he bites out, anger and shame doing wonders to help him get to his feet and away from them, “And if you tell anyone, I’ll sue your asses six ways to Sunday, you hear me?”

He wipes his cheeks with his sleeves harshly, struggling to control his breathing so his side stop feeling like he’s being stabbed.

“Go home then,” Carson acquiesces and he doesn’t sound mad at all despite of how rude Adam is being, “We’ll be here on Monday, if you need us.”

He nods, picks up his keys and storms out of his trailer like the devil’s at his heels.

Thank fuck it’s Friday and he has two whole days to pretend this never happened.

***

He denies himself the pain pills but puts some ice on his side when he gets home, curling on his bed with his dogs while forcefully not thinking about how much of a mess he is, how much he screwed up the show’s schedule just because he can’t keep his shit together.

He knows Blake won’t mock him for it, will probably keep hovering over him until he’s sure Adam is okay again but that—well, that obviously won’t help, but he hates himself enough to still long for that, for Blake to be close and worried, close and warm and gentle like he hasn’t been in what feels like years.

He falls asleep the same way he fell in love with Blake; suddenly and without noticing.

***

He jerks awake at three in the morning, wet and shivering and so angry he wants to scream so he does.

Bones and Charlie dart out of the room as he strips, voice shrill and loud with all the feelings he’s been bottling up, and even that natural, understandable reaction from them hurts.

He doesn’t want to be alone, he’s never wanted to be, but he is.

He wonders what that says about him.

Obviously, nothing good.

He stares at the dark mark on his side, big and ugly and still throbbing like a living thing, and comes to the conclusion he does actually deserve it.

***

He’s drinking jasmine tea, wistfully gazing at the yoga mat that he hasn’t been able to use in days, when the doorbell rings and he startles, walking quickly to it since he kind of already knows who it is.

There’s only one person who wakes up at the crack of dawn willingly that could be right outside his house, after all.

“’Morning,” Blake’s twang greets him and Adam tries not to feel self-conscious but it’s hard.

He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants that Behati left and a big, comfy white sweater that swallows him whole. He must look like a little kid at best, like a man who can’t pull himself together at worst.

He doesn’t look his usual hot self, not that would help his case winning Blake over.

“Hey,” he mumbles behind one of his sleeves, covering half his face as he steps aside to let the country singer in, “What are you doing here?”

“Thought that was obvious,” Blake replies with a shrug, “Came to check on you. You were in a pretty bad shape yesterday, rock star.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he bites the inside of his cheek to refrain from sighing, used to breathing shallowly not to feel like he has fifty needles sticking out of his side and scraping the bone underneath, “I’m—I’m better now.”

It’s Blake who sighs then, piercing him with a stare that’s both unimpressed and disappointed as they sit on Adam’s couch beside each other, thighs almost brushing as if they really didn’t know how to put space between them.

And fuck it all, but Adam isn’t in the mood to deal with expectations, not if they’re coming from the one man that means so much to him it shatters him little by little each day, the fact they’re never going to be everything they could be if a lot of things—namely, the world—were different.

Perhaps being alone is what he gets for still wanting more from his oblivious, sometimes rude and sometimes gentle hick of a friend.

“Look, I understand if you don’t wanna talk about—“

“My ex hit me, okay?” he cuts him off, hunching his shoulders and hoping but also dreading Blake will leave once he hears the truth.

“Your ex,” Blake repeats slowly, probably making quite the face too, but Adam refuses to look at him, “That beautiful scrawny Victoria’s Secret model? I’ll be damned.”

“Of course not, you dipshit,” he hugs his side just a little too tight, hisses, “It was a guy. There. Are you happy?”

“I thought you only liked women,” his friend comments, sounds surprised instead of grossed out by the new bit of information so Adam ventures a look at him.

“Well, you never asked,” he says too lightly, trying for a joke since Blake’s serious expression scares him.

Blake nods, like that settles it, and gestures to the arm Adam has wrapped around his middle.

“Let me take a look, will you?” he asks, accent thick quickening the butterflies flapping in Adam’s stomach, “I want to make sure nothing’s broken.”

“You have x-ray hands?” Adam inquires, reluctant to have Blake’s hands on him only to lose them later, “Because if you don’t, you can’t know for sure.”

The country star snorts. “I’m the next best thing since you won’t go get one,” he points out.

“All right,” he concedes, grateful the older man didn’t visit him to drag him to a doctor.

He lifts his sweater and the t-shirt he put on underneath, ducking his head and gulping as he feels Blake’s big, warm fingers gingerly but thoroughly prodding the bruise like he’s trying to memorize the outline of every bone under it.

Adam stays still, breathing in through his nose and exhaling through his mouth to deal with the extra pain the touches cause.

Gentle or not, it’s like something ugly wants to burst out from there, and he starts trembling and hyperventilating before Blake is even done with his inspection.

“Doesn’t feel like anything’s broken,” he informs, voice strangled, hands steadying Adam’s shoulders as he tilts forward without realizing, sight too bright for a second, “Christ, Adam, you should still have it checked, if you’re in this much pain—“

“I’ll get over it,” he grits out, stubborn, smoothing down his clothes as he wills himself to breathe slower, “And I’m taking painkillers. I’m fine, Blake, really.”

“No, you’re not,” Blake counters easily but softly enough not to anger him, “But all right, I’ll leave so you can get some rest.”

It’s stupid, it is, how he’s both relieved and hurt that the country singer is leaving so soon.

Then he remembers it’s the weekend and he has a girlfriend to spend it with and gets it, wishes he had someone to spend it with too bad enough that his skin prickles with it.

He nods, resigned. “Okay, sure,” he says, low and meek, “Thanks for coming.”

“Anytime, buddy.”

Blake pats his back and is thankfully out of the door before he can see Adam’s arm stretched out to stop him.

Perhaps it’s a blessing, that he wasn’t quick enough.

He’s never begged anyone to stay before and he’s mad at himself for wanting to start now.

***

His bandmates show up the next day and they do take him to a clinic, kicking and screaming at first.

It turns out he has two broken ribs.

He gets stronger pain medication and is encouraged to press charges against his—and Adam loathes the word the doctor uses for this—abuser.

She’s a nice, small lady that assures Adam in a kind but trite tone that he didn’t deserve that and hands him a pamphlet of a group he could go talk about it which almost has him laughing.

It’s kind of nice though, that she treats him like she would any other patient.

There’s literally nothing else he can do except take it easy and wait for his bones to mend so he goes back home, curls up on his good side against James and dozes with his friends’ voices as background noise.

***

Monday rolls around and of course Adam isn’t ready but he hates taking days off which he kind of did last time so he does his best to get everything done.

Gwen looks at him funny and he wonders if Blake’s told her, decides he’s too tired to figure out whether that would be okay or not and turns a blind eye to everything that happens between the two of them like he’s been doing since the new season started and he noticed jealousy burned too hotly inside him every time he did.

He’s not supposed to drive or do yoga or much of anything but thankfully his head is too fuzzy for him to feel stir crazy just yet, the meds keeping him calm and vaguely happy for some reason that he thinks means they’re really the good stuff.

He gets home and doesn’t make it very far, lying down on the biggest couch of the living room after taking two pills and wrapping himself in a throw blanket that only covers about half of him.

He hopes he doesn’t dream of Blake being here, taking care of him, but at the same time kind of wishes he does.

What’s the harm, after all, in being happy in his dreams?

***

He has to find the lone, hidden key Adam once confided in him existed if he looked hard enough to go in.

He closes the door behind him and has two excited dogs asking for some petting after taking the first step inside.

He chuckles, scratches both behind the ears for a little bit and sends them out to Adam’s patio, leaving the door ajar so they can come back inside if they want to.

He’s about to climb upstairs when he catches sight of Adam, dead to the world in his own living room.

His heart stutters a few beats as he stares at the small figure his friend makes, knees drawn up to his chest and arms tight around his chest, a throw blanket half off of him finally falling to the floor when he kicks in his sleep, brow furrowed in discomfort as he tries shifting but is probably stopped by the phantom pain on his side.

He still has a hard time wrapping his head around it; how someone could ever lay a hand on the beautiful, endearing pop singer and how—and why—someone as strong as Adam would ever let anyone do that to him.

He wonders if the douche was special to him, if he had _privileges_ —if somehow Adam didn’t notice what was coming until it was too late because he liked the asshole too much.

It’s hard to breathe if he ponders on it too much, if he imagines Adam giving anyone else the same fond, exasperated look he’s come to think as only his or—God forbid—something even warmer and softer, the kind of look you give someone you love when they’re not looking while smiling like a fool.

A rock settles in the pit of his stomach just at the thought of it and he has to sit down on the coffee table, cursing the courage he didn’t have to ask such a simple question sooner.

He covers Adam with the blanket, careful not to wake him, and ruffles his hair a little. It’s blond again and he loves how it looks on the younger man—despite of how much he taunts him for it—loves how Adam does whatever the hell he wants without giving a shit about what people say. That nerve is one of the things he loves the most about him, admires more than he could ever put into words.

He tells himself that, for once, he will do the same because they deserve this chance, deserve to know if they could be _it_ for each other.

Maybe his heart is still bruised and battered after asking Gwen to marry him only to get no for an answer but he can take more, can fall down and get up again later if he needs to.

She was worth the pain, every bit of it, and Adam will too, if this doesn’t work.

***

He watches Adam sleep until the little guy stirs and moans, shocked and hurt, shutting his eyes tight against what has to be a sharp pang in his side at the unconscious movement.

“Easy there,” he says softly, cupping his face with a hand as the other cards through sleep-mussed hair, “Let me take you to bed, yeah? You’ll be more comfortable there.”

“Mm,” Adam laughs, a little too breathily, looking up at him with eyes that are both sad and delighted, “You’re not even gonna take me to dinner first? Rude.”

He doesn’t try to hide the blush that rises on his cheeks and warms his neck at that, for the first time actually wanting Adam to see how he affects him. “Shut up,” he shuts him down, too gently to be anything but fond, slowly taking his hands off of him and standing up, “You know what I mean, you little menace.”

“Yeah,” the smaller man admits, grimacing as he throws his legs over the edge of the couch and straightens up on the sofa, making Blake laugh when he raises his arms and makes ‘gimme’ gestures with his hands to get picked up, “’Kay.”

He’s carried Adam in his arms before, usually for show, has even given him piggy back rides too but this is the first time Adam gives in completely, letting Blake do all the work and just leaning into him, thighs and arms loose around Blake’s hips and neck.

“Your side?” he asks, his voice a little too gruff as he tries not to touch Adam’s ass in the position they’re in.

It’s remarkably hard.

“It’s fine,” Adam mumbles against his shoulder and it’s probably a good thing he’s tucked his head there since it’d be terribly easy to kiss him while holding him like this.

They make their way to Adam’s bedroom slowly, Blake stopping each time Adam’s breath hitches in telltale distress.

The lead man doesn’t complain about the accidental groping Blake might or might not be doing, probably doesn’t even register it if the way he wipes his cheeks and breathes fast and shallow once Blake lowers him to the bed is anything to go by.

“More pills?” he asks anxiously, already walking to the door to get them from wherever they are after taking the younger man’s shoes off.

“Can’t,” Adam admits through clenched teeth.

“Okay,” Blake accepts, swallowing the stream of curses that’s in the tip of his tongue, “Ice, then?”

“Please,” the little guy all but pleads so he runs downstairs, heart breaking at seeing Adam in so much pain.

The grade-A douche who did this to him better hide from Blake forever or so help him, he’s going to jail for manslaughter and not going to regret it, not even one bit.

***

He’s back to Adam’s side as fast as he can, arranges the cold pack carefully on the place where it needs to be and keeps it there while gripping Adam’s nape, caressing the sweaty skin there with his fingertips whenever the pop singer shudders and winces in pain.

It’s probably around half an hour until the worst passes and he can take the pack back to the fridge, coming back to a thankfully drowsy Adam, who’s doing his level best to squint at him and shake his head a little to stay awake.

He’s so adorable it hurts, if he’s honest.

“I’ll be here when you wake up, darling,” he rasps, promises, this whole taking care of Adam thing doing wonders to make him feel helpless and frustrated.

Adam makes a soft approving noise, a small smile tugging at his lips as Blake toes off his boots and jacket and lies down right next to him.

He wants to take his pain away so badly he feels like he can’t breathe properly either, watching the smaller man so very carefully and deliberately draw a little bit of air in and then another and another.

“Broken,” Adam murmurs, a bit nonsensically, eyes fluttering close and face just a couple of inches from his own, “They’re broken, like me.”

“What?” he asks, frowning, brushing Adam’s cheekbone with a thumb to get him to look up at him for a second, “Your ribs?”

The little guy jumps a little, blinking up at him as he leans into the touch, “Yeah.”

“You’re not—“ he has to swallow, start over when emotion clogs his throat and traps his voice inside, “You’re not broken, Adam.”

“Feels like it,” the pop rocker whispers and promptly goes lax with sleep, leaving Blake with only his thoughts and crippling concern as company.

If he remembers how much Adam cried a few days ago, cried like his world was collapsing in on itself while Blake held him in his arms as tight as he dared, well—it’s easy to believe him.

It’s also easy to vow he will put Adam back together, piece by piece if he has to, until he’s whole and bright and happy again, just like a wonderful guy like him is meant to be.

***

He makes sandwiches for dinner and feels stupidly proud when Adam eats two, his face smooth and relaxed just like it should be.

He helps him to the bathroom to brush his teeth later, probably staying too close if the astonished looks Adam keeps giving him are to be believed.

“Thanks, um,” he says from the bathroom doorframe, chin tucked against his chest and arms around himself, hands barely visible with the long sleeves of his sweater, “You can leave now. I’ll be fine, Blake.”

It hits him then, how it looks like Adam is hugging himself because no one else will and he very firmly untangles his arms to pull him into his own because he wants to prove him wrong and there’s really no place he’d rather be.

He kisses Adam right between his eyebrows when he blinks up at him, hopeful and wary and maybe a little scared too which Blake can definitely relate to.

“I’m staying for a while,” he announces, licking his lips when Adam’s mouth parts in wonder and he can’t help but stare at it.

“Are you now?” the lead singer asks, tone low and inviting letting Blake know he caught him staring and fortunately approves of it.

“I am,” he assures, cupping Adam’s pretty face when he can’t take the staring contest anymore and pressing a small but lingering kiss to his lips.

He gets his own surprise when Adam surges up and clings to his nape, gliding his lips over his in a way that has fireworks setting alight almost every nerve in his body. His mouth is sweet and soft and fits so well against his own that he feels like he’s just come from underwater and found his own paradise on Earth.

He squeezes the hand Adam takes from his cheek, entwines their fingers when neither of them seem to know what to say that could slow their heartbeats by soothing the fears they have going into this.

“I thought you didn’t—“ Adam starts.

“Well, you never asked,” Blake smirks, just a little, quoting him and getting a small but genuine, beautiful smile in return.

“Pity, that,” Adam says, hand sure and warm carding through Blake’s curls.

That look he hoped Adam would never give to someone else is exactly what he gets, softer and warmer and prettier than he could’ve ever imagined.

He beams, feeling like he just swallowed the sun and the moon and all the stars in the sky, and kisses Adam one more time, grateful and amazed and so freaking excited there’s just no room for fear in him anymore.


	34. if I risk it all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for judith, who is great and very patient. 
> 
> sorry if it sucks too bad.
> 
> (listening to writing's on the wall at the airport did things to my brain)

It’s five minutes to midnight when Blake feels it with a sharp spark of fear in his gut, that he knows exactly what his New Year’s resolution is.

He looks at Adam making silly toasts and laughing with his friends, and waits a couple more minutes until he’s sure it’s not liquid courage what’s making him do this at last.

He wraps a proprietary hand on Adam’s nape, proverbial butterflies fluttering both in delight and fright when his best friend beams at him and leans into the touch.

He takes two glasses of champagne from a nearby tray with his free hand and drags Adam outside, the farthest he can so they won’t be seen by prying eyes.

It’s one minute to midnight, one minute to another year of their lives, to a brand new world waiting for Blake to grab it if he’s brave enough and maybe he won’t be, but damn if he’s not going to try.

Adam gives him a curious look but goes along meekly, taking a flute of champagne and looking up to the night sky, eager to see the fireworks like only children can be.

Blake already feels incredibly dumb and unworthy, knows for sure that he won’t ever be able to give this gorgeous, talented, unique man everything he deserves just because he can’t change enough, can’t stop being who he is for Adam to fit into his life like he wishes the unapologetic lead man would.

And yet, he tells himself, he’ll let Adam decide. He can take everything Blake is and everything he isn’t or leave him to bite the dust. He won’t even resent the younger man if he does. He’ll have it coming, that he knows.

The countdown starts and Blake’s heart accelerates but doesn’t waver.

He tilts Adam’s chin up with his fingertips, gentle as he’s hardly ever been, and steals a kiss in the first seconds of 2017 because he feels entitled to, because maybe he’s that much of a dick.

Adam’s breath stutters, his whole body going still for about two seconds too long. Blake is pulling away, fishing for words to save their friendship with when Adam’s arm wraps around his neck, pulling him down for a real kiss, the glass he’s still holding cold against Blake’s nape.

His eyes fall close in relief and joy, his own arm encircling Adam’s lovely waist over the tailored suit he’s wearing.

He feels like he’s making out with a prince, someone too beautiful and promised to greater things for the likes of him, but Adam’s lips caressing his like they’ve been kissing for years and know exactly when to gasp for breath against him, when exactly to suck and glide and just push against his, well—they do a perfect job at making him care not one goddamn bit about that.

When they’re finally, deliciously out of breath, Adam raises his champagne to Blake’s lips for him to sip. There’s a sparkle in his eyes, something that rivals the bright lights bursting in the sky, and he offers his own flute pretending the rhythm of his heart doesn’t change to doubt, to panic and possibly regret.

“Happy New Year, Blake,” Adam says simply, like they haven’t spent the last few minutes crossing the line they weren’t supposed to.

He looks up at him from under his lashes, still pretty much flushed to his body, and Blake can’t help but melt.

Sure, he’s scared.

Sure, Adam could break his heart. But so could he.

“Happy New Year, darling,” he drawls, accent heavy with emotion, and pulls Adam closer until he slots against his neck like a puzzle piece, nuzzling into him with a sigh and voicing no demands, just holding onto him while everyone hugs and shouts inside the house.

They share the drinks, running out of champagne eventually.

The silence grows tense with the questions Adam isn’t asking, with the answers Blake isn’t offering, and his chest aches when the pop rocker takes the glasses from their hands to leave them aside, to grasp the lapels of Blake’s suit jacket tight with all his fingers instead.

“You’re gonna spend the night?” he asks, whispers about two inches from Blake’s mouth, like it’s a secret because it is, like that’s all he can ask and damn if that doesn’t make the ache worse.

He can’t really promise anything else.

They’ll have to take this one step at a time.

“I’d like to,” he admits, tries to soothe the echoing hurt he sees in Adam’s eyes with a small, soft kiss on his brow, cradles the back of Adam’s head gently, lovingly like he’s promising the exact things that he can’t swear.

I’ll stay more than that, I’m serious about this, you won’t regret it, trite phrases that always seem so easy to utter although they’re anything but.

Adam accepts, just like that, and if he tugs him back to the party and they have to pretend nothing happened Blake doesn’t complain about that.

It’s a Hell of his own making, this hiding he’s forcing them to, but he vows to himself he’ll make it worth it to Adam for as long as he can.

***

The smaller man leads him by a sure hand upstairs once everyone has left, the door to his bedroom closing with a soft click behind Blake’s back as their mouths connect again.

He’s not so stupid, knows an invitation when he sees one, and for the first time in his life he doesn’t want to rush this, doesn’t want to reduce this thing they’re just beginning to explore to sex and little else.

He can’t tell the younger man how much he loves him because that’d make it cruel to leave him later but he can do this for him, for them both to treat this like the special thing it is.

He lets Adam pull him down onto the mattress after kicking off their shoes, settles over him on elbows and knees like it’s the most natural place for him to be, and kisses him with enough passion to still his hands and about any thought crossing his mind that isn’t this.

He’s surprised but glad when the little guy doesn’t fight him, lets him set the pace like that’s exactly what he’s supposed to be doing, and squeezes the hand Blake entwines his fingers with, a small smile playing on his pink, slightly swollen lips.

Blake can’t resist it, remembers he doesn’t have to hold back anymore, so he cards his other hand through Adam’s bleached hair, cupping his head with his palm as his fingers knead his nape firmly.

Their legs are tangled together, fitting so good his chest seizes again as his mind whispers to him not to get used to it, and he leans to kiss Adam’s forehead again, hopes that whenever it’s over the blond doesn’t hate him for it.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Adam smirks when he starts, closing the scant inches between them to press a brief but sensual kiss on his lips, “You’re supposed to be paying attention to me, you know. I should be offended.”

Blake’s bottom lip tingles where Adam sucked at it and his breath catches, his hands moving on their own accord to the small of the pop singer’s back, pulling him as close as he dares.

“I just don’t want this to ruin us, after—afterwards,” he feels vile at seeing and feeling the flinch Adam replies with but forces himself to keep going because it’s necessary, “We should, huh, probably set some rules first.”

The smaller man frowns at him, pushing him away to sit up on the bed.

“I get it, okay?” he says, tone and eyes harder than what Blake would like them to be, “I won’t tell anyone, Blake. I’m not that much of an idiot.”

He sighs, reaching to smooth the angry edges he himself put in Adam’s body.

He doesn’t have any right to get mad too, he reminds himself, and cups the pretty face in front of him with both hands like he’s holding something precious, hopes his own eyes tell Adam every little and big confession he can’t make.

“I’ll probably need to date women too,” he states, stopping Adam when he tries to duck his head not to look at him, “But you’ll always be the first one for me.”

The blond laughs and Blake thinks absently that he’s never heard misery sound so appealing, so pretty.

“So no one can know about us,” Adam sums up, looking down, brow furrowed and trembling the slightest bit, “And I have to share you, that’s what you’re saying.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, surprised it’s so easy to apologize and mean it for once, “It’s all I got to offer. I know it’s not enough.”

There’s a long, excruciating pause in which he’s almost sure he’s about to get kicked out. His lungs burn with longing and it’s hard to breathe but he’s proud because he tried, didn’t he? He did and that’s more than he ever thought he’d be able to do.

Then Adam is wrapping his lithe, slender body around him, clinging to him with all limbs as if scared Blake will run if he doesn’t hold him tight enough.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he murmurs over Blake’s lips, nose nuzzling his and eyes half-closed.

Somewhere deep down, as his own arms embrace Adam with just as much want and he kisses him deeply, Blake knows this is it—his one chance at being truly happy and the one chance he’ll blow to pieces when push comes to shove.

***

They’re very careful at first, keeping their secret safe behind closed doors and thick walls, but then happiness gets them a little drunk and the cat is out of the bag faster than Blake thinks is possible.

Gene gapes at them and Adam stares up at him, face a poem of dread, looks guilty enough that it pisses him off because how could this be his fault? It’s Blake’s and no one else’s.

The ball’s in his court now, that much is obvious, and he can see the reaction Adam is waiting for in the hunch of his shoulders, in the slight tremble of his body against him, in the way he sets his jaw and tips his chin down, clearly waiting for a blow to come.

“Hey,” Blake greets instead, doing his damnedest to seem relaxed. His hands keep Adam close by the hips and he nuzzles the blush he can feel warming Adam’s cheeks when he doesn’t pull away, “Sorry for, huh, startling you? Adam didn’t mention you were coming.”

Adam’s friend closes his mouth, blinks at them as he processes what’s clear even though nobody’s saying it.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he says, solemn, and Adam grins when Blake nods, pretty sure it is—never mind the panic still churning in his gut at someone walking in on them as they were kissing which isn’t exactly something he can blame on their ever convenient bromance.

***

He dates women, just as he told Adam he would, but he never sleeps with them.

He doesn’t know what dark, twisted part of him enjoys Adam thinking that he actually does, but the front man never asks, just acts pointedly possessive whenever Blake shows up at his doorstep smelling of perfume and with one or two hickeys on his neck that Adam didn’t put there, so he doesn’t clarify it either.

It’s been five months, which is five months longer than Blake thought they’d ever last, when he’s taking another blonde, Southern, hot lady to dinner and can’t make himself kiss her goodnight like he usually does, like his gentlemanly charade has been forcing him to.

“Don’t you wanna come up, handsome, have a cup of coffee with me?” she offers and that’s innuendo all right, something that instead of thrilling him kind of nauseates him.

Blake shakes his head, presses a small kiss to her cheek and lies through his teeth, saying he’ll call her in the morning even as he’s thinking of hopping on the first plane to California and never looking back.

Oh sure, he’s not supposed to, but that’s never stopped him before.

What the Hell is he doing?

Beats him.

***

Adam is hanging out with his bandmates when he saunters through the door like he owns the place.

He leaves his carry on unceremoniously on the floor, the bright smile on Adam’s face warming him up inside and giving him enough courage to scoop him up and pull him onto his lap once he’s comfortably sitting on the couch.

He feels the stares as he’s kissing the spot behind Adam’s ear that he’s been entirely too fond of for years but they don’t scare him.

This is his choice, he realizes, and whether it’s the right one or not—at least it feels that way.

Having Adam in his arms, there’s nothing that has ever felt this right.

He burrows into the pop rocker’s shoulder, lets the conversation pick up around him and feels like he’s exactly in the place he should be.

***

Adam doesn’t ask why Blake came early to visit him or what’s up with him being all over him even when his friends are around.

He follows Blake back to Tishomingo instead and it’s probably the longest they’ve been together since they started being the complicated thing they are, whatever that might be, but every day feels like the first and it’s not grating or intrusive, more like the opposite.

He loves Adam walking around wearing his plaid shirts, playing with Betty outside after working through his intricate but enticing yoga routine. He loves picking him up and carrying him to bed so they can learn new ways to pleasure each other.

He doesn’t say it, he never does, but it hurts that they can’t stay like this forever, that something so simple and natural for a couple such as living together is so completely out of their reach.

It’s bittersweet, how being with Adam mends and breaks his heart all at the same time.

***

It’s Adam’s last day in his house. It’s not something that they talk about, both of them not liking goodbyes at all—especially when any time together could be their last—but he accidentally sees the flight information on his lover’s phone and he’s selfish enough to want him around for a little longer, even if it’s just day.

He knows there’s no concert or anything pressing that Adam needs to be in L.A. for so he feels allowed to ask for a bit more time.

Adam’s just out of the shower, toweling his hair after a long day outdoors with him, and Blake feels it throbbing like a living thing inside his ribs, this love that’s too powerful and wonderful to be the poison that could end everything he’s worked so hard for in his life.

He smells like Blake’s soap, he notices, and he makes sure to show the pop singer just how much he likes that by pinning him under him on the bed and kissing him hungrily, grabbing Adam’s left thigh and guiding it around his hips to start grinding against him just maddening enough to make it good.

“Blake,” Adam pants, tossing his head back when Blake caresses the sensitive skin of his neck with lips and tongue, digging his fingers into the older man’s shoulders and sliding them down when Blake ruts harder against his groin, gripping his ass with both hands to encourage him to keep going and making a displeased noise when he touches denim, “Fuck, why aren’t you naked already?”

Blake snickers, loud and contagious enough to get Adam giggling as they hurry to get rid of their clothes, and it’s not been long at all since the last time they’ve done this but it’s always like this with them, always like it’s the first but also the last time and they better make the most of it or they’ll regret it forever.

He strokes Adam’s thigh again, loving how the soft, slightly furry skin feels under his hand and his breath hitches when the smaller man spreads his legs for him, deft fingers circling around Blake’s length to slick him up.

He’s quick but firm in stretching Adam up at first, two long fingers going in and out of him with increasing ease as they nip each other’s lips and pant with their foreheads pressed together but then he realizes there’s something else that he wants, something else he’s ought to be doing.

“Turn around,” he orders, raspy and sure enough that Adam just cocks an eyebrow at him before complying, hands and knees holding him up on the sheets as Blake curls his fingertips and brushes that spot that he knows like the back of his hand by now.

Adam stutters moan after moan, high in the sensations Blake is awakening in him, and barely notices when Blake pecks behind his balls and starts lapping at his rim, sloppy with lube all around his fingers.

He does notice as soon as the taller man withdraws his fingers and flicks his tongue confidently against the valley between his cheeks, his voice going an octave higher as Blake licks right over his hole and teases him with the tip, not going in just yet.

Adam doesn’t beg but it’s a close thing, shoulders trembling against the mattress as he uses his hands to expose himself to his lover, and how could Blake deny him anything when he’s like this, completely at his mercy?

“How do you want to come, sweetheart?” he asks, tone low, using the pause in his ministrations to blow hot, damp air over Adam’s balls, “On my tongue or my cock?”

Adam peeks at him, angles his head so he can look behind and catch Blake’s smirk that only grows bigger and smugger when he sees just how wanton the little guy looks, cheeks red and jaw slack in trance.

He’s the one moaning and looking like that when Adam reaches with a blind hand and takes him with no problem, scooting a little on the bed as he keeps Blake’s dick in place so that he slides right into him.

He groans louder when he sees the other hand his lover is using to stall his own orgasm, fisted firmly around the base of his cock.

“Jesus, Adam,” he breathes, mesmerized, hips starting them on a shallow rhythm as his right hand scrambles to take Adam’s and entwine their fingers against the sheets once he lets go of Blake’s dick.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he pants and Hell if Blake couldn’t come from just hearing him, breathing loud and lewd like that, “C’mon, cowboy, fuck me.”

“I’ll fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk, you’ll see,” Blake promises between grunts, holding Adam’s hip to sometimes keep him in place and sometimes push him right onto the tip of his cock slipping back in with a wet noise.

Adam arches his back beautifully for him, hand still clasped around himself to last longer, tight little hole clenching so good around him that he fucks him up the bed and has him hiding his face in one of the pillows, hips tilted up more than eager to receive Blake’s pounding.

“I—I’m gonna, I can’t—“ his lover babbles, desperate, as if finishing was a bad thing somehow.

“Yeah, yeah, baby,” he mumbles, leaning down to lick the sweat glistening on Adam’s nape, “Wanna see you.”

Adam lets go and comes all over the bedding, dick bouncing up and down beneath him as Blake keeps fucking him as fast and hard as he can, a shocked, high-pitched shout ripped from his throat going straight to the heat boiling in Blake’s gut along with the vice-like grip of the muscles around his dick.

“Shit,” Blake curses, hoarse and a little sheepish, realizing too damn late he spilled deep inside his lover without as much as a warning.

“Oh,” is all Adam says about it, blinking sleepily at him as Blake rearranges them on their sides and does his best to avoid the wet spot.

They stay like that, catching their breaths for a bit, and when Adam winces and shudders as Blake pulls out he peppers his nape and shoulders with warm, wet kisses until Adam relaxes again.

***

“You mounted me,” Adam points out at breakfast, a happy leer firm in place as Blake splutters his coffee, “You are one dirty hillbilly, you dickhead.”

“You let me,” Blake retorts, “And you liked it,” he tacks on, just to be a little mean.

Adam shrugs, not the slightest bit ashamed, and stares at him over his mug meaningfully.

“As long as it’s just me you’re doing it with, yeah,” he says, something sad in his eyes making his words softer in a way Blake doesn’t like.

“There isn’t anyone else, Adam,” he admits, fear turning his voice down to a whisper, “There hasn’t been, not for a long while. It’s just you for me now, will be just you until you get rid of me.”

The pop singer gawks at him before smiling softly, hopping off of the stool to stand beside him and cup his face with both hands.

“I don’t think I’ll do that, babe,” he confesses, voice cracking in the middle as Blake reaches for his waist and parts his legs to pull him to the space between them, “I know I should, that you’re risking too much to be with me, but—“

“Shh,” Blake hushes him, “You let me worry about that.”

He kisses Adam to shut any other protest he still wants to make, chuckling when he ends up with a lap full of the little guy and one of their elbows knocks Blake’s mug and spills coffee all over the kitchen counter.

Whatever happens later, at least they’ll have these memories and that’ll have to be enough.

***

His mama surprises him with a visit before his lover leaves for his hometown, doesn’t even blink at Adam’s obvious limping.

“Oh honey, you have it bad for that boy,” she says like it’s no secret.

She’s always been a bit of a bigot—like he himself used to be, like most people from around here are—but she’s surprisingly understanding with this, even smiles at Adam in the same fond way she used to smile at Miranda back when she was Blake’s other half.

“You’ve done good,” she tells him once Adam leaves after standing in the tip of his toes to give him one last kiss, one foot going up endearingly, “He’s quite taken with you.”

“Don’t jinx it, mama,” he shakes his head, tries to bite back a satisfied grin and doesn’t succeed very much.

“Just be careful, son,” she advises, “Many people won’t care how pretty he is or how happy he makes you.”

He sighs, the once-there panic about being found out just a small twinge of unease these days.

“Yeah, I know.”

***

In the end it’s not one of their friends who leak the news.

A smart paparazzi parks outside Blake’s place in Los Angeles for long enough, snaps picture after picture of them going inside hand by hand and clearly kissing behind a thin curtain.

It’s nothing pornographic, the only inappropriate thing of it all being the complete invasion of his privacy it represents, but his label still calls for a meeting in which they tell him in no roundabout way that they can bury the article if and only if he dumps Adam and the younger man leaves The Voice.

They’ve already talked with NBC, they say, so it’s just as simple as making one more phone call.

His life could remain the same, they say, once he breaks up with Adam.

He starts laughing, a crisp and loud, menacing sound, as he stands up from the table.

He was stupid enough to believe that when this moment came—because he always knew it was coming, it was just a matter of when—he would do the right move for his career, for the life he’s always wanted for himself as a Country singer.

Problem is, now he knows what life is like with Adam, knows there’s no way he could live another day without him, without holding him in his arms or hearing his voice over the phone, telling Blake how much he misses the older man, without hearing his squeaky laugh.

There was a reason, after all, that he didn’t leave the rock star at the first sign of danger.

Risking it all for him is more than worth it.

“I’ll see myself out,” it’s all he says to his producers.

He feels vindicated when the door slams behind him.

***

“But you said,” Adam starts, pale and looking at Blake as if he could disappear if he blinks for longer than a second, “I thought—“

“Me too,” he admits, not half as bitter as he always thought he’d be.

Every channel on the TV is broadcasting photos of them together, showing videos of their moments on The Voice, speculating about how long they’ve been a couple like there’s nothing more entertaining and it pisses him off but he breathes through his nose, lets the air out through his mouth and pulls Adam closer, feeling better when the little guy snuggles into him and tucks his head under Blake’s chin.

They stay on the sofa, just holding hands and cuddling, long after they decide to turn the news off.

***

“Mister Shelton!” paps scream at him wherever he goes.

“Do you think being gay caused all your marriages and relationships to fail?”

“I think it’s not any of your fucking business,” Blake mutters darkly to himself after closing the door to his place.

“Babe,” Adam says for the fifteenth time in an audio message, “Come on over, they won’t get to you so much here.”

He finally listens and packs a small bag.

Unpacking is a revelation that sits remarkably well within him, realizing there’s a toothbrush of his in the master bathroom and his shaving cream and space in Adam’s walk-in closet for him as well that he’s been using for weeks, months maybe, filled with his shirts and some jeans and even two pairs of boots.

Adam chuckles when he catches him staring, patting him on the back after he rubs his face with a hand.

“You kinda moved in here a couple of months ago,” he enlightens Blake, tugging him down for a peck on the lips, suddenly shy, “You always left your stuff around so I made room for you, hope that’s okay?”

He smiles, keeps Adam close with an arm around his waist as he nuzzles into his neck. “Better than okay,” he assures.

***

He declines every invitation to every talk show there is.

Sure, Pharrell offered him a contract and seemed mighty certain Blake’s music was going to keep selling and yeah, so he signed it and appreciated a whole lot, but being out is not something he’s used to just yet.

He doesn’t ask Adam whether he wants to go sit on Ellen’s couch and discuss their relationship and Adam doesn’t ask him either so he believes it’s all good until he gets a call from James and feels his very soul dropping ten feet underground.

“We got attacked at the studio,” the guitarist informs him, tone clipped, “Adam needs you, so you better get your ass here, Blake.”

He’s already running to the door as he’s replying, “I’ll be right there.”

***

“Adam was clearly the target,” Matt says to the police just as Blake is stepping into the hall, talking with a split lip that doesn’t look like it bothers him at all.

“I’m pretty sure they just started hitting us too because we tried keeping them away from him,” Jesse seconds, blinking both a good and a black eye.

“They kept yelling slurs at him,” P.J. adds with a sigh, butterfly stitches already on a swollen cut on his eyebrow, “It was very nasty stuff, man,” he explains to Blake, as if he needed any more ammo to feel like 1) suing each and every man who assaulted Adam and his friends to Hell and back and 2) killing them all in their sleep, with just a bullet each.

Everyone has bruised knuckles and Blake’s opinion of them grows tenfold, knowing they got every injury defending Adam when he should’ve been there too.

This is his fault, of that he has no doubt, but he has no time to wallow and curse himself.

A nurse takes him to a private examination room where they’re keeping Adam, warning him that his lover refused treatment and got the worst of the beating before guiding him in and closing the door behind him.

He finds the blond curled up on his side, bruises darkening and cuts still bleeding a little in his pretty face, arms tight around his middle and eyes squeezed shut, tear tracks mixed with dried blood and dirt on his face.

“Aw honey,” he coos, grabbing some gauze and hydroxide peroxide to start cleaning him up, “Why didn’t you let them see to these?”

Adam jerks, almost falling off the gurney, fresh tears collecting quickly in his hazel eyes when he sees Blake and he helps him sit up slowly.

“It was my fault,” he sniffles even though Blake tries shushing him gently, “My friends got hurt because of me.”

“Don’t say that,” he admonishes as softly as he can, starting to dab the wounds on Adam’s face carefully, “It wasn’t, okay? And I’ll take care of it, I promise.”

Adam winces a little but lets him work on him, frowning in confusion at his last words, “What are you gonna—“

I’ll make damn sure it never happens again, Blake doesn’t say, but it’s a promise all the same and he kisses the spot he just cleaned on Adam’s hairline to seal it.

“What’s wrong with your tummy?” he asks softly, persistent when Adam ducks his head and avoids looking at him, “You were holding it when I came in.”

“A doctor already checked on me, okay,” he replies curtly, “She said it was just bruised, that it was going to feel sore for a while.”

He sighs, beginning to lose his patience, “Adam—“

“Stop babying me, Blake, I mean it,” the pop singer cuts him off with a sniff, “Just fix my face a little and let’s go.”

“They kicked you, didn’t they?” he questions and he takes the way Adam’s sob stutters as a yes, “Tell me the doctor asked for some x-rays.”

Adam points at some digital images in a computer behind him with his chin, both stubborn and miserable.

“Nothing broken, she said,” he declares, “I can go.”

He nods, deciding it’s the worst time ever to fight with the man he loves. He finishes cleaning the cuts, puts butterfly stitches on some, and tells Adam they’re good to go.

He smuggles some painkillers with the help of the same nurse for Adam to take when the shock wears off and the actual pain kicks in.

The guys swear they’ll call him as soon as they hear from the police, cheering him up by saying it won’t be hard to catch the men who assaulted them since they work at the same building.

By the time they get out of the car, Adam is hurting enough that he lets Blake pick him up and take him inside, hiding his face against his neck and crying again, if the dampness there and the hiccups that are literally squeezing Blake’s heart like an iron first are anything to go by.

***

His little lover has bruises on his back and arms too, every muscle in his body wound up tight after what happened.

Blake draws a hot bath for him, has to physically haul Adam into it since he’s refusing anything that can make him feel better but once he’s waist deep in the tub—and has managed to soak Blake’s shirt and hair in the process—he concedes and gets in the rest of the way, sighing in relief after a couple of minutes and letting Blake wash his hair after kicking out his soaked boxers.

“Sorry,” the younger man mumbles, face flushed because of the heat, “I just, I feel awful.”

Blake’s face pinches in concern, “Adam, it wasn’t—“

“Don’t tell me not to feel guilty!” he screams, arms shooting up to get up, “They got beaten because of me!”

“They don’t see it that way, darling,” he explains as patiently as he can, stopping Adam from getting out of the water just yet by grabbing his shoulders, “They care about you and they’re the best kind of friends anyone could ever have. They got beaten, sure, but they wanted to protect you and they did. You could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“I—I know,” Adam admits, staying quiet and still as Blake resumes rinsing his hair, hesitating just a few seconds when he catches his lover’s arms tightening around himself and his head lowering until he can hardly see his face.

He strips and gets into the tub, splashing water everywhere so messily that Adam laughs involuntarily at it, posture relaxing as soon as Blake has his arms around him and they’re chest to back.

He tips his lover’s face to the side to inspect his wounds again, frowning at the swelling that’s starting around his right eye socket and cheek.

“You’ll need some ice after this,” he says, pressing a small kiss on Adam’s cheekbone.

The pop rocker sighs in defeat, all but cuddling with him in the bath, “Fine.”

“And you’ll need painkillers, too.”

“Don’t push your luck, cowboy.”

“Didn’t hurt to try.”

***

Blake cooks a simple meal for them, soup that Adam’s upset stomach shouldn’t have much trouble accepting.

Adam still doubles over in pain after a few spoonful’s, ends up on his knees in the bathroom throwing up as his eyes tear up again.

This time, he doesn’t fight Blake when he sits beside him on the cold tiles and presses pill after pill to his mouth along with a glass of water that the younger man takes in tiny sips, struggling to push the meds past his throat.

He doesn’t ask, just weaves his arms beneath Adam’s bony knees and shoulders to lift him into his arms and carry him upstairs, not having the heart to let him go after he curls up into his chest and fists his shirt when he tries to drop him gently on the mattress.

“You’re going to do something stupid,” his lover mutters against his neck, “I can feel it.”

“It’s not stupid if it could stop this from happening again,” he counters, knowing Adam must be scowling and guessing exactly what it is he’s going to do.

“I thought we agreed on this,” Adam says, putting just enough inches between them to stare at him in the eye.

“We never really talked about it,” Blake feels like pointing out, “And it’s not up for discussion. I’m gonna do it, end of story.”

That pisses Adam off thoroughly and quickly. “Oh yeah?” he spits out, disentangling from him and pushing him into the headboard with both hands on his chest, “You’re gonna tell the press how much you love me, is that right? You’ve never even said it to me, asshole!”

“You know how I feel!” he barks back, “I’ve given it all for you and you want me to say the words too, you greedy little bitch? You should fucking know it already!”

He blinks, blindsided by his own burst of anger and swears his heart loses its rhythm when Adam removes his hands from him like he’s just burned him.

“You’re going to call me names too?” he asks in a small voice.

He shakes his head, frantic. “Adam—“

“I never wanted you to give anything up for me,” his lover says and it’s true, Blake knows so, “I love you and I never wanted you to resent me for it.”

“I don’t! I could never—“ he stammers, decides to bite his tongue and try to fix this later, when the hurt isn’t so fresh, when Adam isn’t hearing his own voice filled with bitterness in his head.

He watches Adam walking away from him and hopes he’s just going to sleep in a guest room instead of leaving Blake alone for good.

Those three little but big words—he doesn’t deserve them but he still cradles them close to his chest as he lies in Adam’s bed and wishes he could will back time.

***

He doesn’t give the statement he wanted to the media, decides it’s not worth it if it’s just going to upset Adam more even if it’s the right thing to do.

They don’t talk that day or the day that follows and the silence is worse than any fight they could have.

***

“I think we should break up,” Adam says as hello on the third day, “You can tell everybody this was a mistake and move on with your life.”

He sounds so sure, like he’s been thinking about it ever since Blake’s outburst and his voice is steady, unwavering, but he can’t fool Blake into thinking what he’s doing is easy.

He can see clear as day how hard he’s breathing, how much he’s trembling, and how he’s looking anywhere but at Blake while he’s doing something that will fix nothing.

“No,” he refutes, pinning Adam’s small body against the fridge, arms at each side of him, after he pretty much has to chase him all over the kitchen, “No, we’re not breaking up, you hear me? What I said, I didn’t mean it that way, I was mad at myself for getting you hurt—“

“But it wasn’t your fault!” Adam frowns at him, hands reaching up to touch his face and stopping midair as if remembering he’s trying to give up that prerogative in this very moment, “There was nothing you could do—“

“I should’ve said something, make sure people knew this is all on me!” he talks over his lover, takes his hands in his and squeezes until Adam finally shuts up and just stares up at him, “I would change nothing, Adam, of our first day together, of the way our year started. I’ve loved you for years and risking it all for you, losing it all if that’s what it takes to keep you by my side, I’ll never regret it.”

At some point of his confession, he dropped to his knees, only noticing as he feels Adam following him down to the floor and clinging to his neck after peppering the side of his face with little, frantic kisses.

“Stop it, stop,” the pop singer pleads, pushing Blake’s head until he’s burrowing into his favorite place on Adam’s shoulder and breathing him in, his heart finally beating right as he’s holding Adam in his arms again.

“I love you,” he mumbles into Adam’s skin, smiling a little when he feels a hand carding through his hair.

His lover sighs, going slack with relief in the embrace, “I love you too.”


	35. courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> explicit sex scene and barebacking jsyk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long forgotten draft i've had for ages and decided to finish because [cap kenway](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainKenway/works) is an enabler and also we were both thirsty for shevine so?? trash it may be but it's the thought that counts?? D: /slinks away

Adam is sleeping on his stomach, his face turned to one side.

He looks younger like this, quiet and still and so vulnerable it makes something catch in Blake’s throat.

His back rises and falls with each breath, his tattoos just darker shadows gracing his skin in the semidarkness of the room.

He toes off his boots, pulls his jeans and socks off before sliding under the sheets and rearranging them over them both since the younger man already managed to kick half of them off the bed.

It’s been weeks since the last time they’ve seen each other—weeks since the last time they’ve been in the same town, actually, and it pains him to admit it’s been a deliberate decision on his part.

They had a fight over Skype, which must be a new level of ridiculous, and he doesn’t even remember how it’d begun, just the end of it.

“Look,” Adam had said, the tilt of his head sad and resigned, the clench of his jaw betraying how frustrated and upset he really was, “Let’s just meet when we meet, okay?”

Ah, Blake thinks, he does remember what it was about, remembers spitting something out that was like, “I’ll just have to get my ass there, Lord knows you won’t wait around for long,” but sounded actually worse.

“I’m not having this conversation over the fucking phone,” Adam said next, stalling whatever he was going to add to probably make things worse, “You don’t trust me, I get that now. Let’s talk about it next time.”

Yeah, Blake thinks, blinking; he can see clear as day how absolutely heartbroken Adam looked back then, how it’d felt like a sucker punch to know he had the power to get that pretty face so pinched in pain it was like they were breaking up instead of having their first fight.

He remembers, part of him dreading to gather the smaller man in his arms and settle in for what’s left of the night, the same part of him that’s dreading Adam might have changed his mind about them by now, realized the country singer wasn’t worth the heartache.

He lies on his side, watching Adam’s eyelashes fluttering slightly as he dreams. His hands twitch, arm resting on the side of his head, like he’s trying to grasp for something in his sleep that keeps slipping through his fingers.

It’s not hard after that, to reach and hold his hand since he doesn’t have the strength to hold all of him, not just yet.

Adam’s eyes open then, his breath hitching when he catches sight of Blake lying next to him.

“Hey,” his lover mumbles, soft as if they hadn’t been fighting the last time they talked.

“Hey,” he echoes, bemused at being so welcomed here despite of it all, gulping when Adam smiles slightly and entwines their fingers together.

“You look tired,” he whispers, like that’s all that’s wrong with this picture, lips parting to probably offer Blake an easy way out, an easy way back to what they were just starting to discover together.

“I missed you,” he interrupts, the admission tumbling out of him like an avalanche, “I wanted to come here sooner, but…”

He trails off, not sure how to put into words it was a step that took a lot out of him without making Adam feel guilty about it.

“Don’t make sacrifices for me,” Adam had made him promise when they started this, “Do them for you, to get things you want.”

He brings their joined hands to Adam’s cheek, caressing the bit of stubble there with the back of his hand.

The pop singer doesn’t push him to finish the sentence, half-lidded eyes patient and still a little drowsy.

Between Blake’s petting and the late hour, he’s already dozing when he asks, loud and dazed, “Why aren’t you mad at me? Damn it, Adam, you should be.”

The little guy startles, stares at him for a long moment before shifting closer to him so there isn’t half the mattress between them anymore, just a couple of inches instead.

It takes him a second to decide it’s a distance he can handle.

“I was,” Adam replies at length with a chuckle, no trace of lightness in it, “I was, for a long time.”

For a repeat cheater, Blake sure as Hell can be touchy about the possibility of being cheated on.

He should apologize for it, he knows so, but he’s always been crap at that.

Still, he thinks, he should try—if he wants this to work, and he does, he __does__ , that’s why he’s here—he should try to be better.

“Adam, I—“

His lover shuts him up with a kiss, moving with a speed and grace beyond Blake’s comprehension. It’s slow and lingering, their mouths meeting in the middle as if they’d spent every day learning how to slot together instead of miles and miles apart, and it’s just wet enough to make him pant for more.

It makes him ache too, it does, not entirely in a good way.

Here, in the dark, he swears his bones sting with every feeling he’s been bottling up for this wonderful man he’s cradling close now even though he doesn’t feel brave enough, not yet.

Adam squeezes his hand, burrowing into his neck, and it’s like he knows, like he’s hurting too and that shouldn’t be as comforting as it is but it is.

He kisses his forehead, nuzzling into the smaller man’s hair, free hand finding the small of Adam’s back like iron being pulled to a magnet, and lets his body sag, following his lover’s lead and falling into a much-needed, peaceful sleep.

***

He doesn’t wake up with a gasp for the first time in over a month, doesn’t feel that hollow, gaping hole between his ribs first thing in the morning, just the gentle pressure of Adam’s upper body resting on his chest.

The pop rocker stretches like a cat when he rouses and Blake’s body acts before his mind can catch up with it, pinning Adam’s small wrists over his head as he settles above him on hands and knees.

The younger man blinks up at him, stunned but pliant under him, like he didn’t think Blake had it in him to be like this.

But he does. He wants to wreck Adam, wants to ruin him so bad he’d never be able to be with anyone else but him.

They’ve done nothing but sloppily get each other off with hands or mouths in the pertinent bits of their bodies and it hasn’t been a hardship, to see and feel how different it is to have sex with a man than with a woman, so this shouldn’t be either.

He dips down for a kiss, makes it hot and messy from the get-go, marveling at how Adam isn’t even capable of having bad morning breath.

They make out like they’re starved for it, Adam’s thighs spreading to fit Blake between them and clinging to his hips when he grinds down against him, groaning into his mouth at discovering how good doing that little feels and letting his lover’s hands go just for a moment so he can grip his hips instead.

Adam throws his head back, pushing up to meet him and pawing Blake’s undershirt up his back, taking it off of him without even looking at him, just gasping and arching beneath him as Blake moves against him.

He hasn’t had enough but he flips Adam over all the same, guiding him to his knees, tugging his boxers down to knead and spread his cheeks in a telltale of what’s to come.

Adam shudders under his palms but bends for him, inviting and easy and absolutely exquisite.

It’s not like Blake doesn’t know what to do, like he’s fumbling through this, but every reaction he pulls out of the pretty man beneath him fills him with confidence and he wraps himself over Adam’s back, teasing him with the glide of his dick between his cheeks as he sucks a mark on his nape.

“Fuck,” Adam moans, amazed and almost seizing when Blake makes a fist around his cock and pumps, demanding and smug as he keeps seeking friction against his crack.

“That’s the idea,” he smirks, winded already, even though that’s not it, and fondles himself just for long enough to coat his fingers with precome and press it on Adam’s rim, fingertip circling it firmly but not going in just yet, his other hand securing the smaller man’s hips in place when he flinches a little at the touch.

His lover whimpers at being breached, body tensing despite Blake peppers the space between his shoulder blades with kisses, so he takes it slow, even stopping for a moment to look for a forgotten tube of lube in the bottom of Adam’s drawer.

“Just—just do it,” Adam gasps, peering back at him from over his shoulder, eyes a little scared but resolute and dark with arousal, like fucking can somehow be like ripping off a band-aid, “Blake, please, I can take you.”

“Oh, I bet you can, sweetheart,” he drawls, carefully sliding the second finger in and watching how Adam’s breath catches in his chest at it, “But not yet.”

His lover practically whines as he starts him on a slow rhythm, fingers going in and out of him with a wet, popping sound because of the amount of lube he’s using and just how tight Adam is.

It’s going to be a tight fit, that’s for damn sure, so he’s going to take his time with this.

He’s going to make it right or so help him.

“Babe,” Adam whimpers, forehead digging into the pillow, shivering from head to toe once the country singer gets his fingers past the second knuckle and tips them just a little to the side in him, “Oh God, __again__.”

He’d laugh about it, except it’s too goddamn __hot__ , that mix of command and plea and desperation in the younger man’s voice.

Brushing and pressing onto it makes it a lot easier to finger Adam open, the third one going in with little resistance to it, and feeling the smooth heat inside, clenching hungrily at the bits of his hands he can fit in it is so intoxicating it’s all he can do not to give up and pound into him already.

“I thought you’ve done this before,” his stupid, big mouth utters like an accusation.

Adam sighs, not the pleased little sounds he’s been making, but a sad, long one.

“You thought a lot of things that aren’t true, you know,” he points out, not even complaining when Blake pulls out his fingers and frowns at himself for being so dumb, so cruel with the person he loves the most.

He jumps a little when he feels Adam’s lips on his brow, arms wrapping around his neck as Blake breathes into the sweaty, hot skin of his shoulder.

“I guess I did,” he mutters, ashamed, and it’s enough of an apology for the man he’s holding to forgive him and press his lips against his again.

It’s slow, almost tender, and they don’t stop kissing as he pushes Adam on his back and lifts one leg up to have better access to the space between his cheeks.

Adam hooks the back of his knee over his shoulder, impossibly lithe and sensual, and caresses the back of Blake’s head with patient, loving fingers, holds himself very still after taking a big gulp of air as the Country singer takes himself in hand and presses in oh so very slowly.

For a moment, he’s worried they won’t fit, that this’ll be incredibly frustrating and kind of painful too, thinks he’s a goddamn idiot for not easing them both into it for a few days instead of rushing it.

And he might still be one, but not because of that at least; Adam wraps his arm around his neck, plasters his forehead to his as he half-moans, half-sobs over his mouth, and then he’s all in, just like that.

It’s overwhelming enough for Blake to tremble all over, to curl into Adam while very carefully keeping his hips still.

He’s not a prude, his mama would be horrified at the number of women he’d had in the backseat of a truck or the inviting darkness of a barn, but he swears nothing’s ever felt this intense, not even in his teens when everything was.

He doesn’t say anything corny, just wills himself to last as long as it’s humanly possible considering who he’s balls deep in, and pecks Adam’s cheekbone as he waits, alternates between groaning and swallowing thickly because his lover is so hot and tight around him he might not even need to move to get off.

The smaller man blinks dazedly up at him, blunt nails digging into his nape and back. He arches, exposing the long, tempting column of his neck for Blake to nuzzle into and that’s all the signal he needs to start driving into him slightly, barely making it out at first.

It takes him a couple of minutes to get the hang of it, but then they’re both panting and Adam’s limbs tighten on him, the leg he has spread spamming as he gives Blake more room and the Country star really starts to put his back into it.

“Oh, __oh__ —” the front man sounds so fucking amazed, gapes at him as Blake keeps himself taut and gives all he’s got to a few well-timed, sharp thrusts that get him to moan high and long in Blake’s ear as he squeezes around his dick and has him seeing almost white.

“Jesus, Adam, you feel—so—good, ungh,” he grunts, tries to catch his breath as he rotates his hips and watches Adam’s eyes roll back in his head from pleasure, his hole clenching and keeping him inside greedily now that he’s found a good spot to hit.

He’s careful to move in the same way, kissing his lover sloppily as they practically fall apart with each joining of their hips and slide in.

Adam gives as good as he’s getting, pushing up to meet him and holding on for dear life, nipping at his bottom lip and tugging at his hair whenever Blake feels like he’s about to catch fire without actually satisfying the beautiful man he’s having as he should.

“Blake, yeah,” the front man encourages, breathy and wanton, “Yeah, you’re—ahh!”

It’s over fairly quickly once he abandons the leverage of one arm in favor of wrapping it around Adam’s slim hips; he’s just about to use his other hand to jerk his partner off so they can finish somewhat at the same time, pounding his lover into the mattress hard enough to draw a temporary dent in it, when Adam cries out and clenches down on him so good he’s got no choice but to stop and groan along with him.

Finishing inside of him, feeling himself filling Adam up and him just taking it is possibly a religious experience and he might’ve just found his new church.

His lover just gasps and stretches up for a soft kiss, shuddering against him as Blake pulls out bit by bit until he’s able to clean them perfunctorily and toss the top dirty sheet off the bed and goes back to snuggle the Hell out of Adam.

The afterglow almost makes him feel strong enough to tell his partner all his fears and how he’s willing to crawl under them for the rest of his life if that means they can be together for real; for the good and the bad and everything in between.

In the end, he kisses the little guy’s brow and reaches for the covers.

Later, if his courage isn’t all adrenaline and endorphins, they’ll have their talk.

***

“Did Miranda really leave you after you fucked her like that?” Adam greets him with because of course most of his mouth-to-brain filter never worked, “Wow, strong woman.”

He snorts, grimacing to both the offending sunlight coming through the window and Adam’s teasing but still kinda flattering comment.

“She did,” he says lightly, “Shocking, but you apparently need more than good sex to make a relationship work.”

The front man raises his eyebrows at him, “That’s deep, cowboy, and so early in the morning, too.”

He takes a breath, curling a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder when he tries to settle back down, “Adam—”

“Look, can we please not—I mean, can we do this later, maybe?” his lover cuts him off haltingly, hazel eyes suddenly bright with something too akin to fear for Blake’s liking and body tense like he’s bracing himself for hurt, “After—after last night, I can’t really deal with you leaving, Blake, not right now.”

It makes the bottom drop from his stomach, how convinced Adam is that he’s going to say something bad, that he’s going to ruin the time they spent together by saying something he shouldn’t, by probably showing his alleged lack of faith in the younger man and what they have.

Which okay, it’s his fault all right.

He clutches his lover’s waist tight, tries again, “Adam, I’m not—”

“Please? I don’t want to fight,” he realizes there are honest to God __tears__  in the corners of Adam’s eyes right then and it almost stuns him into silence, “And it would really fucking suck if you left right now.”

“Honey,” he drawls fondly, pulling the front man closer to him and craning his neck to meet his lips in a small kiss, “We’re not gonna fight. And I’m not leaving.”

The smaller man gives him a skeptical look, brings up a hand to clutch at his arm, “But you said—”

“I didn’t mean it,” he’d been too scared and probably too drunk to care how much his words would sting but he can see it now, clear as day, “I’d trust you with my life. I’d trust you with my heart too—Hell, it’s been yours for years, but Adam, that doesn’t mean I’m not scared shitless and when I’m scared I lash out so you’re gonna have to be patient with me.”

He says it all in a rush, like if he waits for his next breath the words will wither and dissipate into nothing.

For a second, everything is still.

He has a moment to panic, to wonder if his lover caught any of that or he’s going to need to repeat himself a lot slower and embarrass himself further, but then Adam is cupping his cheek and beaming at him and he can breathe easily again, wrapping both arms around this unbelievable, crazy man that somehow cares about him enough to put up with his shit.

“My heart’s yours too,” the front man admits, voice cracking, kissing him long and deep before adding, “I would never, ever cheat on you, baby, especially not considering how fucking good you are in bed. I mean, why would I even want to?”

He guffaws, loud and stupid with happiness, licking his lips and enjoying how Adam can’t stop staring at them, “Good to know,” he burrows into his shoulder, trying to push away from his mind how incredibly fragile __he__  made Adam look.

He doesn’t trust himself to have that kind of power over the younger man, not at all, but he does anyway so he peppers his lover’s collarbone with kisses in a silent vow not to abuse that ability ever.

He thinks about telling Adam he’s only good because it’s __him,__  because they’re together and Blake could write albums about how he’d pull moons closer to the Earth if that meant making Adam fall and scream for him.

He kisses him instead, lingering and open-mouthed, heart soaring when his lover melts against him with a needy, delighted little sound.

If Adam is going to be patient, then Blake is going to be strong for him and maybe—just maybe—they’ll be all right.


End file.
